


Twisted Together

by synonymouse



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: BDSM, Come for the porn, Consensual Non-Consent, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Intimacy, Maledom/Femsub, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Romance, Some angst, Stay for the plot, fluffy BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 78,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonymouse/pseuds/synonymouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't want to chase, I don't want to capture, I don't want to lead - not you, not in here. For once I just want to feel like someone else's in charge. I want to feel like ... like what I want doesn't matter."</p><p>Elena Amell is too young to have the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. Zevran provides her with a means to escape her burdens, if only for a few moments at a time. The story starts out with a focus on their intimate encounters, but expands to explore the interpersonal relationships between the Warden and her companions, and the impact of their adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like someone else is in charge

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot. Being unable to afford Dragon Age: Inquisition, I was replaying Origins as a placebo, and got terribly frustrated with Zevran's coyness when I called him on his flirting. So I rewrote the sex scene as I felt it ought to have happened. Only it became a lot longer than what I had planned. Then I sort of accidentally wrote an epilogue after I finished the game. And then I started filling out the parts in between and things just spiraled from there.
> 
> For this reason, the story swerves wildly. Once I'd gotten the worst of the smut out of my system, I became interested in relationships and questions like "what do the companions do when they're not on a mission with the Warden anyway". So the story starts out heavy on the sex and very focused on Zev/Amell but changes after a few chapters to include various other characters and how they relate to each other and the Warden (still a lot of Zev/Amell action throughout, though!). In my own opinion, the writing improves markedly after the first few chapters.
> 
> Please don't be shy about leaving a comment or two if you like what you read. Makes my day. ^^
> 
> **A sequel is in the works, set before and during Dragon Age: Awakening.**
> 
>  
> 
>  **RE SPOILERS/CANON:** This is yet another elaboration of events during DA:O. Knowledge of the story is helpful but not necessary, but the fic does contain spoilers. Most of it should be perfectly canon. A few conversations are changed towards the end but the net result is the same. The vast majority of the fic takes place in between what happens in the game, so although plenty of conversations are referred to there's hardly any repetition of ingame dialogue or events.
> 
>  **RE WARNINGS:** I originally chose "No Archive Warnings Apply". Then I read the descriptions a bit more carefully and realised that "Underage" is defined as "below eighteen". It never actually occurred to me that Elena might be counted as underage, as she has gone through puberty and is above the age of consent in most of the western world. So. Technically, there should be an "Underage" warning, but there's no sex with children in here and hence I don't see why I'd need to warn anyone off. :P Individual chapters have content notices where necessary.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena the Warden asks, and receives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that this revolves entirely around the relationship between Zevran and the Warden, what's going on around them isn't terribly important, but here's a quick rundown of the story so far: The Warden has been through Lothering and picked up Leliana and Sten, rescued and recruited the mages, picked up Zevran, cleaned out Redcliffe and is now camped outside Denerim with plans to look for Brother Genitivi the next day.

"Everyone out there. They expect me to be some... some kind of leader."

Elena sighed. She couldn't see Zevran's face, lying back against his chest with his arms around her made that impossible, but she felt him breathe right next to her ear. She imagined she could hear him quirk his mouth into that infuriating, to-die-for smirk of his. His arms were slim and sinewy, resting gently around her. She longed for them to tighten until she couldn't run.

"But, my dear lady, you _are_ our leader. You're a Grey Warden, after all."

"So's Alistair!"

Zevran chuckled. "Mhm? And Alistair would be such a good leader."

"...alright, I see your point. It's just ... It's too much, sometimes. I didn't ask for this. I was barely 16 when I left the Circle for the Grey Wardens and ... and everything's just ... it's hard, Zevran."

His arms tightened around her, imperceptibly, but enough to make her shiver inside. Lips brushed her ear as he spoke. "This was what you wanted to talk about, 'in private'?"

Was that disappointment in his voice? Maybe she was bothering him with all this moaning. But then again ... "Look, Zev, I just wanted ... I wanted to be close to you and ... I wanted ... not to have to ... I mean, please, would you stop acting coy?" She sat up, turning around and facing him with blazing eyes. "I want you. I've never been with a man and I'm probably not up to the standards you're used to and all but I thought maybe you were interested in me but when I suggested getting into my tent you forced me to through this stupid verbal chase and..."

He stared at her, clearly taken aback. She cursed her mouth to the Void and back and yet it kept running, like there was nothing left to lose. She didn't even know what she was trying to ask for, she just knew in her heart that he could give it to her.

"I don't want to chase, I don't want to capture, I don't want to lead - not you, not in here. For once I just want to feel like someone else's in charge. I want to feel like ... like what I want doesn't matter."

Zevran blinked several times, and swallowed for lack of something to do with his normally quick tongue. He was certain that Elena had no idea what she was talking about. She knew nothing of sex, nothing of the intricacies of courtship, nothing of the exquisite plays of power he would so often allude to. She had lived in the tower of the Circle of Magi since she was but a small child, and all she had seen of the world since she left it was war, death, horror - Blight. The future of the land rested upon her slender shoulders. And she had had him fooled, just like everyone else. She always seemed so on top of things, so self-assured in her prodigal power, so confident in the truth and righteousness of her mission.

And now? Now she looked at him with a need so clear and vivid he cursed himself for not having spotted it before. She had taken to him - _him_! An elf, an Antivan assassin, a confessed murderer with a provocative devil-may-care attitude. Him, whom she had met _through his failed attempt to kill her_. She hadn't sought the company of Alistair, the gentle knight in shining armor, nor did she seek shelter against beautiful, soft-spoken Leliana's bosom, though they obviously both fawned over her. She had taken to _him_ because of his experience, because of his edge of danger, and because despite all that, she somehow trusted him not to hurt her.

She was hoping for him to fill a need she couldn't express clearly even to herself, and he had rebuffed her. He had forced her to chase him, treating her as if she was some sassy, saucy woman of the world...

He cast his eyes down for a moment, gathering his temporarily shattered self together. He had always enjoyed handing himself over for a good strong woman to play with ... but that didn't mean he couldn't change the game, even for her. No. Especially for her. Momentarily disturbed by the fervour with which he wanted to please her and give her what she wanted and needed, he once again had to collect his thoughts. When he looked up his face was still, almost hard. He saw something shift in her expression when he met her eyes. A small smirk played on his lips.

Reaching out, he unpinned her hair deftly and then grasped it gently at the base of her neck. She gasped as he pulled her close and kissed her.

"I am sorry, Elena," he murmured against her lips between kisses. "I should have realised, but I did not. Let me rectify my mistake..."

Elena suddenly found herself on her back and out of breath, having little idea how she got there. A silvery noise of metal against metal somewhere in the tent, and then she felt the cold blade of Zevran's dagger resting against her throat. Her eyes opened wide, and she realised she was panting quietly through parted lips, as if terrified - but she wasn't. She wasn't entirely certain what was going on, actually, only that everything, all her troubles, the weight of the world had suddenly disappeared from her shoulders and all she could think of was the feel of sharpened metal against her skin.

Zevran hummed thoughtfully, sitting above her. He rested his chin in his hand with his head at a cocky tilt. "As I thought, not so tough after all. The Grey Wardens may be the mightiest warriors Ferelden has to offer, but you wouldn't last a day in Antiva. Yes, true, you have your magic, but if I see so much as one tiny spark from those dainty little fingers..." The dagger pressed slightly into her skin.

Silence reigned for a few moments. All Elena could hear was her own heart, the rush of blood pounding in her ears. Her eyes were fastened on Zevran's face, eyebrows drawn up in a beseeching expression. He reached down with his free hand and cupped her neck, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers.

"Elena," he whispered, "if you want me to stop, say ... say 'Redcliffe'. No harm will come to you, and I will not be disappointed in you if you decide to stop me. This I swear. Nod if you understand."

She managed to nod slightly. Her insides were melting and there were tears in her eyes and she didn't understand why. And that was okay because right now, it didn't matter. All that mattered was his face, his eyes, his lips, his hands. His dagger against her throat.

Zevran leaned back, his face once again hard - not like rock, nothing so coarse, but perhaps like polished hardwood. Warm and alive, but indomitable, unyielding. "Well. Having spent so much time walking behind you while you sway your hips, pretending for all the world like you don't know I'm watching ... I think it's time you stop being a tease and showed the goods." When she didn't immediately comply, a minute frown creased his brow and he ordered her curtly, "Take off your clothes."

Elena started slightly and moved her arms. It took a lot of fumbling where she lay, and every now and then Zevran reached out to help her tug something out of the way, but eventually her robes, stockings and soft shoes were all lying in a crumpled heap in a corner of the tent. She laid back again, shivering slightly in her smallclothes, more from embarrassment and terror-mingled excitement than cold. The tent was getting quite warm, despite the chill of the night outside.

"Good girl," Zevran muttered under his breath. Hungrily, he let his eyes rove over her body. Underneath her mage's robes, she was exactly as he had imagined: a perfect, porcelain doll. How she could have stayed unsullied so long, he had no idea. No doubt her penchant for setting people on fire kept would-be suitors as well as rapists at bay. No matter. Here she was, locks of black hair framing her face, all doe eyes and white skin and rosy cheeks. All his. Trembling under his gaze. He could see her throat throb with the beating of her heart, so violent it moved the blade of his dagger where it rested gently against her. He had to admit it; as much as he loved being of service to women, the girl before him gave him an urge to conquer, to possess and own. Maybe hurt, just a little.

He straddled her thighs and relaxed the hold on his dagger, leaving it resting against her. "Better not move. It's sharp, no telling how much damage it might do on its own." He was lying; the dagger he wore around camp at night was vastly inferior to the ones he actually used for battle. This one he would at most use for practising throws and whittling at wood when his fingers were idle. Although still a deadly weapon in his hands, he doubted it would more than graze her skin if she decided to sit up. But! What she didn't know couldn't dull her sense of danger and excitement. He grinned to himself.

Zevran glanced about the semi-darkness of the tent, cursing his lack of foresight, and finally unbelted his tunic. The canvas belt was quite worn, and he judged it soft enough to bind her. There was no need to be professional about it, in all likelihood she wouldn't even want to struggle. He picked up her unresisting hands, wrapping his own hand easily around both wrists, and looped the belt around them several times. When it was fastened to his liking he pushed her arms above her head, placing the dagger with the hilt on her chest, blade crossing her throat.

Elena whimpered quietly, flexing against her bonds. On some level she was aware she could probably shake the belt off if given a little time, but somehow, she felt freer now than she had in a long while. If she couldn't move her hands, she couldn't act. Her arms drawn up like this, she was stretched out and exposed, and ... and what she wanted didn't matter. She was shocked at the heat this thought generated in her. It felt as though her skin was aflame, and she had to look down quickly to make sure she hadn't actually set anything on fire.

Zevran's own hands were now free to explore her body. Gently he traced the outline of her face, trailed his fingers along her collarbones and over her shoulders, brushed the sides of her small breasts. She closed her eyes then and her flush deepened, as if the touch was shameful. He chuckled, his fingers on one hand circling her navel while the other followed the curve of her hip.

"Oh, such modesty. Such virginal blushing. Do you think I believe that you never touched yourself? That you know nothing at all of ... pleasure? I've seen the way you look at men. You long for this, no use denying it..." Her breathing quickened and he smiled inwardly. His judgment hadn't deserted him yet; this was a girl who enjoyed a bit of humiliation. He decided to push, and leaned closer, his voice now a husky murmur, "Don't worry, dear 'lady'. I will bring out the slut in you."

Elena responded with a whimper. She swallowed, moving her tongue around in her dry mouth, moistening it. How could she let him speak to her so? Why did she want him to continue? Why did every word he uttered feel like little jolts of lightning coursing through her body, centering in the pit of her stomach? She had, she thought vaguely, asked for guidance, for leadership ... but maybe that wasn't it at all.

Maybe Zevran saw something in her that she hadn't realised was there. She felt his fingertips moving gently over her skin, defining the edges of her being, and imagined he was giving her a new form, reshaping her like a sculptor reshapes clay. They were moving up again, towards her chest. One of his hands was resting on her hip, squeezing ever so gently, as the other cupped her breast and then moved in a lazy spiral towards her nipple.

"Now now," Zevran mumbled as she gave a small, frustrated moan. "Shush. The others may be off entertaining themselves in Denerim, but these forests are full of all manner of beasts and bandits. You don't want to draw their attention, now do you? I don't want to have to gag that pretty little mouth of yours." With that he closed his thumb and index finger around her nipple, squeezing gently.

It was such a small touch, some part of her mused, such a small, innocent thing, just a light pinch really, and yet it made her want to scream, but she was quiet. She wanted to arch her back and open her eyes, but she squeezed them shut and remained still, trembling, panting. He hushed her, again, as he gently rolled her nipple between his fingers, and she stifled the moan threatening to escape her throat, and again he whispered, "Shh pet, be quiet now," as he squeezed, harder, and she dug her nails into her palms and he squeezed even harder and now it hurt and she didn't stop him, why didn't she stop him, it hurt and her sex was throbbing now, dear Maker, it hurt and she could feel that she was moist, why was she moist when he was hurting her, why didn't she say 'Redcliffe' - why wouldn't he touch and squeeze and pinch her other nipple too?!

Then he let go, once more letting his hand simply cup her breast, thumb only just barely brushing the aching tip, and she panted. She heard the warmth in his voice when he said, softly: "Good. Very, very good."

Zevran looked at her a long moment. There was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, her cheeks and chest were flushed deep red. All from a little gentle prodding from him; just a few small tests to find her sweet spots. Powerlessness. Humiliation. Pain. Who would have thought? He gave quick thanks to whatever forces had shaped his life to give him such excellent self control. Even as experienced as he was, it was hard for him not to simply fall upon her now, devour her whole. She wouldn't resist, she would in all likelihood enjoy it, but he wanted to give her so much more. Make this a memory to last a lifetime, even if that time may not be very long.

Well. Maybe especially because of that.

He reached for his dagger again and slipped it underneath the hem of her underwear. She gasped at the sudden sensation, her eyes flying open, and he gave a brief moment's pause to allow her to stop him. For all he knew these were her only smallclothes, and it would definitely be difficult to explain to Wynne why they suddenly needed mending. But she said nothing, and he grinned as he cut them away from her body. Elena shivered as the steel brushed against her hips, laying bare her most intimate places.

"Ah, now..." he sighed, gazing at her exposed form. The fuzz between her legs was just that: Fuzz, sparse and wispy, dark as the hair on her head but nowhere as rich and lush. She was beautiful. Leaning to the side, he unstraddled her thighs. "Spread."

Her legs parted. She didn't part her legs, they just ... parted. Although he had barely touched her - no more, actually far less, than he had rightfully judged that she had on occasion touched herself - Elena's mind was trapped in bliss, senses heightened until every sensation was nigh unbearable, and yet all she could think of was how she craved more, more. And so her body acted with no regard to modesty.

He almost laughed. "Very good indeed!" He rested beside her, propped up on his elbow. The dagger was back at her throat, one hand on her knee, slowly creeping up the inside of her thigh. She could feel his breath against her as he continued, softly: "In fact, the way you so readily spread your legs, I think you would have found yourself right at home in the whorehouse where I grew up. How would that be, ah? To work on your back, let men give you money to use your body? Bit of a change of pace from being the high and mighty Grey Warden."

She squirmed inwardly as his words painted pictures before her mind's eye. She saw herself at the Pearl, paraded in front of customers with the rest of the wares, one among many, just a body, an object. Zevran's hand against her thigh was calloused but warm and his touch gentle, and it insinuated itself into her fantasies, where she was now on a bed in one of the back rooms of the brothel, him a customer, a bag of money waiting on a table ... And then his hand reached her sex and she was brought back into the here and now, where there was no lush furniture or wooden walls, merely tent canvas softly illuminated by the same lantern light that glittered in Zevran's eyes. He was smiling almost imperceptibly and hushed her again as his fingers combed through the sparse hair covering her sex. He didn't push or probe, merely let them slide along her slit, teasingly.

"So ... am I right in assuming you have never been with a man before?" he asked after a few moments of agonizingly light touches.

She tried to find her voice. It took a couple of false tries, where nothing would come out other than unintelligible whimpers, and then she managed: "No, never."

"Mmm. Have you ever ... inserted a finger? Or such?" He kept his voice carefully level, almost disinterested, not to betray his own dislike of the awkwardness of the questions. No doubt they might make her uncomfortable, perhaps even somewhat destroy the mood he was trying to create, but he needed to know what he was working with. Her eyes did look a little less clouded when she shook her head and he sighed inwardly. Oh well. She was still panting, and he could definitely work with this.

He put on a small, delighted smile. "So. A complete virgin, ah? Uncharted territory. How ... wonderful." The smile changed into a wolfish grin as he pushed a finger between her nether lips, working it slowly down through her slit, caressing that most sensitive nub of flesh and then encountering the moistness of her opening. She shook when he touched her thus, gasping and choking down a moan. He noted with approval that she was still trying to be quiet, as though there was actually any danger to making noise.

And oh, but she was moist. Wet, even. Had she not been such a doll to look at, he might even have described her sex as "sopping".

Leaning close to her face he murmured, "You are wet, my lady. Very. Wet. Is this what they teach at the Circle? To enjoy fear and humiliation?" The heel of his hand found her clit and pressed gently against it, rubbing slowly, while his middle finger probed the moist folds below. His dagger still rested against her throat and now he pressed down on it, ever so slightly. He felt her muscles contract beneath his hand, and she whimpered.

"See? You love this. I haven't even made an effort to make it enjoyable for you," he lied, "and yet here you are, all a-quiver. I bet I could make you beg."

The expression on Elena's face at this point almost made him laugh. She was already begging, it was written all over her face, as obvious as the sun in the sky. She just didn't know how, or for what, so she was trying to compel him with her eyes to do what her voice could not ask for.

Zevran's finger had found her opening and pushed against it, moving away, circling and then back, pushing a little harder. Every time it got wetter.

"Good thing for you, you know, being so wet," he said, almost conversationally, though his voice had gotten markedly huskier and he had to make an effort not to start growling. "It'll make it easier when I take my pleasure with you." By this point he had worked his finger into her up to the second knuckle and he could feel her clamping down on him as he mentioned taking her. It made him smile even as he was kicking himself. How had he missed this, indeed - he could have had her so much sooner, if only he hadn't waited for her to make a move.

Setting aside the dagger, he still leaned on his elbow but slipped his hand around the back of her neck, his fingers resting on the side of her throat where he could feel her thundering pulse. He squeezed demonstrably. "Don't try anything." He bent down, buried his nose in her hair, taking in her scent. Elena quivered beneath him, lost in the unfamiliar and immensely pleasurable sensation of his slender finger moving steadily in and out of her, deeper and deeper with every push. She felt his lips against her ear, his tongue flicking across the lobe suggestively as he pressed on her clit with his hand. A moan escaped her lips and she bucked her hips, helping him delve further into her sex. Now his teeth against the skin of her neck, small painful nips all along down to her shoulder; she wondered briefly if he would leave marks. Nevermind that she could heal them. Maybe she wouldn't want to.

When next he withdrew his finger from her and pushed in again, he added another, working them slowly inside her. She could feel a slight strain, then, and somehow realised the reality of the situation. She had never paid much attention to what others said about sex. When the other acolytes had giggled over lewdly illustrated volumes at the back of the library, she had focused on harnessing her elemental magic. But she was aware that sometimes ... it would hurt. Sometimes, the first time, something would tear.

Something would tear in her, she suddenly felt sure of it, and for a moment she panicked. She stiffened in his arms, and he stopped moving. His hand rested around her throat, his breath brushed her ear, his fingers were deep inside her.

Then he resumed. "Relax, pet," he whispered. "No use fighting the inevitable."

Even as her body once more moved against his, opened up for him, tingled with anticipation and desire, she had a few lucid moments in which she pondered what had just happened. He had clearly noticed her panic. He was aware of everything that happened with her, he knew her as well as a harpist knew his instrument. Every strain and tension he noticed. In all likelihood, he had probably seen this before. And he continued plucking her strings, making music out of her body's reactions, skillfully weaving an illusion of inevitability.

She could stop this whenever she wanted. But as long as she didn't want to stop, she had no choice but to do as he willed. As long as she didn't want to stop, what she wanted didn't matter.

Zevran gasped and pulled back slightly to look at her face. Her eyes were closed and her lips wore a small smile. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he had felt something inside her move, shift, settle. Fall into place. Suddenly she felt yielding; still keyed up with erotic tension, but with an underlying softness. A complete ... trust.

He nearly dropped everything and ran. What the hell was he doing, playing around with the would be saviour of Ferelden? What an utter megalomaniac was he, to think he could toy with the fate of the world in the shape of this beautiful, fragile girl, for his own pleasure?

But he didn't drop anything. Didn't drop her. Because. Because ... why? Nevermind, there was no time for introspection. He focused on her, on her face, her body, those small whimpers called forth by his hand - still moving despite his momentary bout of terror - and he focused on his resolve to make this ... whatever it had to be. Whatever it had to be so that when she left her tent in the morning, she would be happier and stronger for it.

He was moving his fingers in circles inside her, his whole hand rotating slightly, gently working on stretching her opening. She was tight, and he suspected there would be some pain no matter how he prepared her, but he would minimise it as well as he could. She squirmed and bucked underneath him, but after a little while he could tell that the crescendo was fading and it was time to move on. He had considered trying to give her an orgasm, but deemed the risk of failure due to her nervousness too great. Better save that for next time, he thought with a small grin, and focus on what he had already threatened to do. Or promised her, depending on how one looked at it.

Elena felt his hand withdrawing, leaving an unacceptable emptiness in that space which had just felt so blissfully filled. She frowned, whimpering her disapproval. He gave a low chuckle, moving above her to once again sit up, this time between her thighs.

"So eager for me, are you? And there's not even a dagger to your throat anymore."

He had already pulled his tunic over his head and was unlacing the soft leather trousers he normally wore around camp. She looked up at him, eyes wide and clouded with pleasure. She had seen quite a lot of him before, him hardly being of the modest persuasion, but... this was rather different from watching water splash over his shoulders in some cold stream, with Wynne right next to him, washing the dog.

Now it was just them. And now she wasn't the only one who was naked. And she realised that maybe looking at the pictures in those books might have done her some good after all, since she found the sight of a naked man wholly unfamiliar and somewhat daunting. At the same time ... The weak lantern light framed every line of his body, emphasising his taut muscles. For all he would boast of the leisure and decadence of Antiva, there was not a trace of excess on him. In this light he looked a statue - no, not a statue, more a beautiful tool. A beautifully carved bow, perhaps, powerful with tension. The light did little to bring out the tattoos swirling over his skin, but it painted his pale hair golden, both that on his head and the tuft above his erect manhood.

Holy Maker, she wanted him.

Still. She felt uncertain now, and shifted. Was he expecting her to do something? She had come to trust him absolutely, and her hands were tied, but she worried that maybe there were things she ought to be doing to please him, to make this as good for him as it was for her. Nevermind the look in his eyes, his parted lips, the tense set of his shoulders. Not even the obvious hardness of him registered as evidence of his enjoyment in her anxious mind.

Zevran saw her squirm and concentrated, having lost himself briefly in the anticipation of what, quite literally, lay before him. Running a hand up her body he fastened it around her throat as he held himself above her on his elbow, the length of his cock pressing against her slit. "I saw that. Don't move," he growled, allowing her nervousness to become part of their game. "There is no getting away from this, you know that."

She moaned at that, her hips bucking against him as her eyes sparkled with newfound fear and desire. He kissed her, deeply, and pulled back his hips, positioning himself. She could feel the tip of his manhood pressing against her opening, and held her breath.

A hand in her hair, twisting it into a firm grip, lips against her ear. This was a point of no return. He had to be sure. "Elena," he whispered. "Is this what you want?"

For a moment she was quiet, and his heart sank like a stone before she spoke. "Zevran... Zev... I swear... If you stop now, on my honour as a Grey Warden, I swear I will drop a fireball on this tent and burn us both to ashes."

And there she was. Elena Amell, prodigal daughter of the Circle, the Grey Warden fighting to unite Ferelden against the Blight, telling him to fuck her under pretend duress lest she unleash an inferno on both of them. He had to laugh, and he did, delighted, _happy_ in fact.

Then he plunged inside her.

It wasn't how he had meant to do it. He would have worked himself inside slowly, so there would have been time for lubrication to spread properly, but ... no. They were past that stage. There was only the burning need now, in him as well as her. He moaned quietly as he entered her, feeling her warmth envelop him, squeezing him, driving him wild.

She cried out in pain; she had been right, something did tear when he entered her. But it was nothing, no worse than any pain she had endured in her many battles, and she instinctively healed the tear as she had healed her countless bruises and burns as a child. It was nothing compared to the pleasure she felt, the desire, the overwhelming joy.

The hand in her hair was drawing her head back, and Zevran was sinking his teeth into her exposed neck, his other hand having found the previously ignored nipple and clamping down on it as he moved inside her, pace not exactly slow, but controlled and somehow indomitable, focused, demanding. He craved her and now he was taking her, having her, possessing her body with his own, pushing down on her with his weight and pinning her to the ground. With every thrust he entered her deeper, until his pubic bone crushed her clit before he pulled out. An unfamiliar noise was reaching her ears and it wasn't until Zevran let go of her nipple and pressed his hand over her mouth that Elena realised she had been moaning. He hissed something in her ear, something about being quiet and not moaning like some harlot, vague insults lost in the rushing of blood in her ears, yet spurring her to buck her hips against his, wrapping her legs around his waist, clinging to him as he clung to her.

It didn't last long. It lasted an eternity. It's all a matter of perspective. In that space, confined by the walls of the tent, their intertwined bodies moved in unison in a dance that went on exactly as long as it needed to in a world that contained nothing but them. They strained against each other, pushed and pulled at the tensions between them, pounded and squeezed and clenched and minimised the distance between their bodies, until the pressure had mounted to a point where it was unbearable and something burst.

Zevran cried out hoarsely against Elena's throat and buried himself deep inside her. She could feel him throbbing and she moaned, grasping at him with muscles she had barely been aware of before now, savouring every moment. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, and they rested, still joined.

Sweat cooled on their bodies. After some time Elena grunted, spurring Zevran to shift his weight off her partially, allowing her to take in great lungfuls of air. They gazed at each other. Elena thought that they probably looked a silly cliché, and that she didn't care at all. This was their space, their time, theirs alone. And she hadn't had to make a single decision, take a single action. For a while, she had had no will of her own, and she had been completely free. She smiled.

"Elena," Zevran mumbled. His body was spent for the moment, but there were things he needed to say. "Elena, when ... when we leave this tent tomorrow, you are once more the Grey Warden, our leader, and I am oath-bound to follow you."

She frowned slightly and opened her mouth to say something, but he placed a finger over her lips with a wry smile, hushing her up. He rolled over, laying on top of her once more, face but an inch from hers.

"Outside of this space, you are a leader, but in here, with me, for as long as you want ... you are mine."


	2. The shortest chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroine tries to run away.

The first time had been easy; they had been alone in camp. Zevran had realised later that this had been carefully orchestrated by Elena, although he didn't know whether it had been conscious or merely instinct on her part.

As much as she hated the idea of leadership it came naturally to her, though perhaps not in the form most people were used to and comfortable with. Anyone would be proud to follow someone such as Alistair, at least in his more serious moments, but the templar refused Elena's every attempt to hand over the reins. Why people followed Elena - this short, skinny girl with naught to her name outside the Circle - was far more intriguing. Of course, to Zevran it was obvious: In her way she was a master manipulator, her earnestness and childish bravado convincing everyone that she was utterly guileless. Perhaps even herself.

So yes, the first time she had set up for them, but he suspected opportunities for intimacy would not be so easy come by, forthwith. Not just because she was now trusting him to make it happen as well as having made him promise to keep it secret, but because the ever increasing sense of danger made the others less and less willing to split up. In truth, he himself would not feel safe if it was just him and Elena, in the dark, in a tent where he could see nothing, with only the dog keeping watch outside. Agreeing to her request that night had been a tactical mistake, if not an emotional one. (And he wasn't so sure about the latter part, but, why worry about a problem today when you could worry about it tomorrow instead? You didn't live long as a Crow if you spent your time brooding.)

As it happened, the next opportunity presented itself only a matter of days afterward. The Warden and her companions found themselves making camp in an unusually pleasant bit of forested countryside, and needed to send someone for water. They had crossed a stream some ways back, and judging by the lay of the land it was now somewhere to their east, not too far away.

Ever since Wynne had nearly been mauled by a flock of wolves they never sent anyone alone. Zevran volunteered with a shrug, but no one seemed much inclined to help out. A row broke out when Alistair tried to give Morrigan the task, stating quite correctly that thus far she had never once contributed to the camp's general welfare. Her retort was unusually vicious, and matters spiraled from there. Leliana and Wynne, trying to mediate, got pulled into a protracted argument about Morrigan's usefulness and questionable loyalties. Sten's contribution to the discussion was a muttered "Humans," after which he sat down and honed his sword. Bodahn and his boy hid behind their carriage.

Elena, ever the diplomat, tried to calm things down, and was accosted by Alistair with demands of sending Morrigan packing - and vice versa. Having been plagued by nightmares the night before, she was in no mood for it.

"Are you both five years old or just complete morons? I swear, I know I'm the youngest person here but sometimes I wonder. I'm going to fetch the damn water, and if you haven't stopped fighting by the time I'm back you can both find something better to do than fight the Blight with me. Come on Zev. Greg, follow!"

 

Locating the stream proved easy. Only a few minutes' walk away, it had carved a steep canyon through which its waters ran white.

"Eh, tell me," Zevran ventured as they were clambering down the slope to reach the water, "why is the dog named Greg? You never said."

Elena started as though she had forgotten he was there, and stopped in her tracks. She looked at the dog, which barked happily at her as it slid past.

"Huh? Oh! Greg. Right. He's named after ... a person I know. Greagoir."

"And this Greagoir, I wonder - is he a loyal, fearsome, if smelly warrior? Or a slobbering, smelly idiot who chews on people's shoes."

She laughed. "You have no idea how right you are."

"About what? You didn't tell me which one he is!"

Elena just shook her head, grinning at him, and started moving again. She had been fuming quietly all the way here, and Zevran was somewhat relieved to see her cheerful again. She could be insufferable when she was grumpy. The dog on the other hand was never grumpy, and currently quite excited at the attention. He suddenly bounded off into the undergrowth.

"Hey... Greg! Greg! Come back here!"

They had just about reached the bottom of the cleft. Greg had run off along the water and then scurried back up the slope, disappearing quickly. There were a few cracks loud enough to be heard over the noise of the rapids, but then he was gone completely.

Elena sighed, staring despondently at the spot where he had disappeared. "No use chasing after him. I guess he'll come back. I just hope he doesn't come back with a rotten arm again."

Caring little for the dog, Zevran was checking out their surroundings. It was evening, but the sun was still up and there would be at least another hour of light. The spot was secluded, the water loud enough to mask other sounds ... Ever the opportunist, he was smirking as she turned to face him. "So. You, me, alone. Surely you know what that means?" He leaned his shoulder against a tree, crossing his legs.

Elena's eyes widened somewhat when she saw his face. There was a predatory look to him, as though his features had suddenly sharpened. She supposed he must have looked the same in the tent a few nights ago, but it had been quite dark and she had been too preoccupied with the newness of the situation to truly see him. Now there he stood, all relaxed and casual as he gave her a measuring stare. He had drawn one of his daggers and was holding it by the blade, tapping its hilt against his shoulder thoughtfully. She felt a hot blush rising on her cheeks and stammered something unintelligible, shaking her head uncertainly.

Zevran noted her reactions with satisfaction and weighed his next words carefully. "I am going to rape you, of course. Now, you could be a good girl and just lay down and take it, I suppose, bu-ut ... there wouldn't be much sport in that." His tone was perfectly conversational, even as he twirled the dagger in his hand. It was an act of deadly disinterest he had honed to perfection. "No, I think I'd rather you tried to get away."

She looked at him, eyes wide like a spooked deer's, and appeared to be nailed to the ground. He stepped up to her and leaned close to her face.

"Go ahead, Warden. _Run_."

He wanted her to run? Her eyes flashed wildly from side to side, her excitement growing. He wanted a chase? Well ... then she would give him one! She turned where she stood and managed to get all of two yards up the slope before her feet tangled with each other and she stumbled forwards. Her hands buried themselves in the loose mulch, but she wasn't down yet and she struggled to keep climbing. Behind her, she heard him laugh.

Any lingering worry that she might have forgotten or decided to stop their game had disappeared. Had she thought he was really threatening her, she would have fought. Had she wanted to simply stop, she would have said. But there she was, dropping her things, the great warrior mage scrabbling in the dirt as though she was a peasant. _Delicious_. Zevran closed the distance between them easily and grabbed her ankle. With one tug she was flat on the ground of the steep slope. He dragged her down to where they had started, heard her spit as dirt got in her mouth. When he released her leg, she tried to push herself off the ground, and he placed one foot between her shoulderblades, pressing her down again.

"Now now," he chuckled, "That wasn't much of a chase. Nevertheless, it was amusing to see you try." The stubborn chit was still trying to get up, and he put more weight on his foot. She was a wisp of a girl and keeping her pinned required little effort. "Struggle all you like. Why not scream a little, too? I don't care. The noise will drown in the river."

Elena felt the air rush from her lungs as his foot pinned her to the ground. With every move she made, forest litter tumbled down the slope and hit her face. She clawed at the soil, grabbed at a nearby root only for it to come loose, rotted to the core. There was no purchase to be found. Had he known she wouldn't get further than this? He must have known. She tried to scream but there was a lump in her throat blocking the way, a knot of arousal in her belly making it hard to even try to draw breath. She flailed weakly, kicking at the ground.

Zevran ignored her struggles, humming cheerfully to himself as he unbuckled and unlaced what needed to be unbuckled and unlaced. He hefted the dagger again, tossed and caught it backhanded and then bent down and plunged it into the ground right next to her head. She yelped, her entire body twitching fearfully. "No time for ceremony I'm afraid," he said and used her briefly frozen state to drop to his knees, straddling her thighs.

The weight on her back gone, Elena made another attempt to push herself more upright, which was immediately foiled. A hand closed tightly around her left wrist and her arm was twisted painfully, held far up her back and pinned there. She whined, trying to squirm away, and he leaned on her harder, still humming. Why was he hurting her? It's not as though she was going to get away. Didn't he realise it hurt? Finally she went still and cried, "Let me go, it hurts!"

"Oh, sweetheart," he said in his most patronising voice and leaned down to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She could just about make out the outline of his face against the sky in the corner of her eye. "My dear, sweet thing. Yes, it hurts - but why would you think I care?" He sat up with a laugh.

And there it was again, that tumult within her, those insufferable flames of lust which had tormented her to distraction lately. How was it even possible that denial of her agency and wishes would affect her like this? But any voice of reason within, trying to carve a path through her excitement, was quickly drowned out as she felt his free hand pushing up her robes and deftly pulling down her underwear to bare her bottom. She squirmed and twisted with embarrassment as she realised he could actually see her now. A hand grabbed her buttock, squeezing firmly.

"Very nice. Do keep squirming! It's quite a lovely view from this angle when you arch your back like that."

Zevran was thrilled. Oh, he relished the chase, figurative or literal, but for someone such as she to hand herself over so willingly! Now that he knew what to look for, he read her as easily as any book. He wondered, as he forced his hand between her closed legs and slipped a finger into her sex, how far he would be able to go, how far she would let him take her. Not this time, of course; they had but a little time before someone would wonder where they'd gone and start searching. But in some hypothetical future where it was just them ... Just how deep did this vein in her run? The rush of power was intoxicating and he took a moment to contain himself. If there was to be any such future, he had to focus on her, not let himself run wild.

He pulled out of her, noting by rubbing his fingers together that she was already moist. Not quite as well lubricated as the first time, but quite sufficient for now. He wasn't interested in hurting her down there. Maybe just leave her a little sore, as a sweet reminder of this moment, and a promise of things to come. He grinned, leaning down to brush her ear with his lips. "Enjoying yourself? I am. Oh, I have been looking forward to this..."

She felt him push his manhood between her thighs until it pressed against her opening. Never once did he relax his hold on her wrist. There was a few moments where it felt like she was teetering on an edge of a precipice, like everything stopped, waited along with her for what happened next. She made a sound, a half-moan, half-sob that drifted off with the waters, and then he was inside her.

He planted his free hand on the ground next to her shoulder, holding himself up as he fucked her. There was no other word for it, however sweetly or euphemistically he would normally put it. This was raw, physical, simultaneously bestial and businesslike. Short, hard thrusts, not too fast. She was tight - had been tight before, but in this position she squeezed him so hard he briefly wondered if he'd somehow entered the wrong opening. She moaned beneath him, and he had to fight to stay silent himself, to retain focus and self-control as well as awareness of their surroundings.

Finally overwhelmed, Elena was no longer struggling. She wanted to. Somehow it felt like she should, like that was part of it. But her body had given in completely to pleasure. She closed her eyes, resting her cheek against the ground, her free hand mindlessly clutching a fistful of dry leaves. Her surroundings had all but disappeared; all that was left was the sensation of him moving against her, inside her. Every thrust brought a small whimper from her lips. His pace quickened gradually, and he became more forceful, the grip on her arm tightening as he slammed into her from behind. Soon her whimpers turned into moans, and then he peaked, plunging deep inside her and spilling his seed.

They were still for a while, catching their breath. The noises of forest and river pressed down on them, reminding them to move. He let go of her wrist, carefully helping her untwist her arm. Then he leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. "There's a good girl," he mumbled. She shivered, clenching around him, and he responded with a soft moan, followed by a chuckle. He withdrew from her and quickly cleaned himself up. She could feel his seed trickling out of her and hastily made sure it didn't land on her robes.

"I'm filthy," she grumbled as she sat up. Zevran was already drawing breath when she interrupted, "Yes yes, very funny. I'm just trying to think of what to tell the others."

"How about the truth?" he suggested innocently.

 

"Maker! Elena, what happened to you?" Alistair jumped up from where he had been sitting next to the fire, a worried look on his face.

Elena made a sour face and unceremoniously dumped the waterskins she had been carrying in a pile. "Long story short, Greg ran off, there was a chase, I fell. I don't want to talk about it."

Zevran shook his head, smiling. Well, she _had_ told the truth. After a fashion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell at this point, Elena is a supremely boring character. This is because I am incapable of playing RPGs and not picking what I feel is the morally correct option EVERY TIME. Seriously. I still feel bad about supporting Harrowmont (it seemed like the right choice at the time!). When I created Elena, I gave her the face of a child on purpose, simply to feel justified in being such a self-righteous prig.
> 
> Well, and also because I like ageplay...


	3. Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroine gets educated.

The Arl of Redcliffe had been cured, and the Warden and her companions decided to stay in Redcliffe for a little time to rest and restock. It was sorely needed; Bodahn had to repair his wagon, Sten had broken another three swords and needed something sturdier made, and Alistair's armour was a complete mess after being chewed on by a high dragon as well as all her brood. Arl Eamon was all business, to the point where it was hard to believe he'd just been in a coma. He couldn't quite hide how anxious he was for them to be off to Orzammar to enlist the aid of the dwarves, but he was a generous host nonetheless. Elena and Alistair had been given guest rooms, the rest were quartered in the barracks.

So here she was, sleeping under a roof for the first time since ... she couldn't actually remember. Their trek to Haven and back had been as rushed as it was arduous, spurred on by Alistair's concern for the Arl. Many were the nights they hadn't bothered with a campfire or even tents. Redcliffe castle's guest quarters were a welcome change. Elena could almost imagine she was back in the Circle tower, only this bed was far softer than her bunk in the apprentice dorms.

Yet she couldn't sleep. She curled up on the large bed, staring unseeingly in front of her.

He would come tonight, Elena knew he would. There was no mistaking his intentions, given away by the stare and wink he had given her across the table as they had supped with Arl Eamon and his family. Zevran would come to her door, pick the lock, and ... and then something. Endless possibilities swirled before her mind's eye, but none of them crystallised into fantasy. She wanted him to come, she yearned for it, had been yearning for some time. There had been little opportunity for intimacy as of late, a few stolen moments here and there when no one was looking, furtive couplings in chilly woodland, that was all. She wanted him to come, desperately ... but there was doubt.

And she didn't know how to handle doubt. She wasn't even sure what it was she was doubting. All she knew was that the only one who could help her was on his way. All she had to do was wait for him.

Where was he?

 

Exhaustion claimed the others quickly. Zevran lay awake and listened to their breathing, waiting until moonlight slanted through the window slots and he could no longer hear the swish of skirts as maids passed the door. Only the night watch would be awake now. He slipped out of his bunk, pulling on his trousers and grabbing a small pouch off his belt, but not bothering with a shirt.

As much as Elena's refusal to acknowledge their affair to the others sometimes rankled, sneaking through castles to accost beautiful maidens was certainly right up his alley. He stealthed through the castle, gliding from shadow to shadow, avoiding the one patrol in his path. Her door was closed and locked from inside. He had expected this, and grinned to himself as he unfolded the pouch and chose a lockpick. He was inside the moment the door opened, closing it without a sound and locking it behind him.

The room was dominated by a fireplace and a large bed. A lamp burned low on one of the nightstands, causing the bedposts to throw long, blurred shadows up the walls. Elena was curled up on the side of the bed closest to the lamp, crisp white linen pulled up to her neck, her knees drawn up so far they were nearly tucked to her chest. Her hair had come undone from the braid she usually slept with. It fanned out over the pillow behind her, but for a few tresses tumbling across her face. One of her hands lay beside her on the pillow, fingers limply curled against her forehead. Zevran almost laughed when he noticed that under her mouth, the pillow was wet with drool.

Asleep, she looked like a child. Utterly vulnerable. Something gripped his heart, squeezed his chest so tightly he had to stop breathing for a moment.

Then he shook himself brusquely and pulled a hand through his hair. Enough with the mawkish staring. He knew she was no child, there was a woman in that body, one with needs he would satisfy - needs which just happened to coincide with his own desires. An opportunity like this shouldn't be wasted. They were surrounded by thick stone walls, and no guards patrolled this corridor. As long as they didn't raise their voices unduly, no one would ever know he was here.

He moved around the bed and slowly crept onto it, careful not to wake her as he moved in behind her.

 

Elena woke up with a start and a small cry which was muffled by the hand that was covering her mouth.

"Shush, pet," Zevran whispered in her ear. "Surely you don't want a scandal, hm?"

Her breathing quickened as he let go of her and trailed his fingers along her neck, pulling the sheet off her shoulder and down her arm. She started to turn around, but he grabbed her hair painfully and forced her to be still. She was wearing a simple shift that must have been supplied by the castle household. His free hand soon found its way underneath it. He savoured the feel of her smooth skin as he caressed her hip, her waist, her breast. He cold feel her nipple stiffen at his touch.

"Here I thought I'd have to force myself on you again. You are easier than an Orlesian whore," he growled.

Elena swallowed, whimpering and shutting her eyes tightly. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, she had thought she would have time to talk to him before ... this. And now she was confused. She wanted nothing more than for him to continue, to claim her, take her, possess her completely. She wanted him to invade her and open her up and push her down, she wanted him to expose every inch of her and judge her and forgive her, she wanted ... and yet ...

" _Redcliffe_ ," she heard herself whisper brokenly.

Zevran let go of her hair and her breast, pulling his and out from beneath her nightgown. Almost, he pulled apart. But not quite. He merely gave her a little space, putting a comforting hand on her arm. Quietly: "Elena. Tell me what's wrong."

She took a few shivering breaths, eventually managing to open her eyes. There were tears on her lashes. What was wrong? She wasn't sure. That's what was wrong. How did one express uncertainty when facing the end of the world? How did one ask questions about things one had no concept of, no words to describe? She turned to lie on her back, feeling the nightgown twist around her as the sheet bunched up between them. She could see his face now. She wasn't sure what she had expected him to look like but what she saw gave her some relief. Calm. Kindness. Concern. Had she thought he would be angry? The thought of disappointing him was far more uncomfortable than she was willing to admit.

"I just ... I just don't understand."

Zevran caressed Elena's hair back from her face, looking intently into her eyes. "What is it you don't understand, dear?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Myself. Us. This. It's ... I mean, is ... is this what people do?"

 _Ah_. He raised his eyebrows slightly, let out a small sigh, and smiled. So that was it. Of course - it was to be expected. As ready and willing as she was, he had almost forgotten he was her first.

"I assume you aren't referring to sex itself, but rather the ... particular flavour of sex we are perusing, yes?"

She nodded.

"So ... Hm, hold on."

Zevran grunted as he shifted, propping himself up with a pillow against the headboard. He reached over her to turn up the wick of the lamp, which was threatening to go out any moment. Then he guided her into settling against him, head on his shoulder with his arm around her. He sighed again, then quickly amended a smile as she looked up at him with a faintly worried expression.

"So, then. First of all, let me apologise. I have rushed us into this without pausing to see whether you needed anything clarified or explained. I don't doubt that you have enjoyed our encounters - although if you haven't, you obviously must tell me!"

She shook her head and hugged him in response. "I've enjoyed them very much."

"Good. Anyway, I can see how all this must be confusing. You've no doubt been taught sex is something special and intimate and tender, something one should really only do if one is in love, yes?"

"Well ... to be honest I haven't been taught much about sex at all. But yes, I guess that seems to be what people expect."

"I doubt it has escaped you that my approach is rather different. I mean - not that it can't be special - and it's definitely intimate - but it doesn't need to be tender, and one certainly doesn't have to be in love. But, that is beside the point here." Zevran could hear himself rushing his words, skipping aimlessly from point to point, and took a deep breath to calm himself. It's not as though this was the first virgin he had introduced to the world of carnal pleasures. It's not like he hadn't acted the sex educator before. Why did he get nervous about this now, of all times? He gathered his thoughts and went on. "The point is, to many, sex can be far more than an intimate embrace with a loved one, or a simple sating of lust. Some people have different needs and desires entirely."

"Some people, like me?" Elena was watching his mouth as he spoke. Even as she hung on to his every word, ever the eager student, she couldn't help but stare at his face in rapt fascination now that she had the chance to do so without arousing suspicion. The curve of his upper lip as he pursed it, the way his teeth glinted when his lips parted...

He glanced down at her and smiled slightly. "Yes, like you. You might not know it, but that first night outside Denerim, you actually summed it up perfectly. What you long for is to feel like someone else is in charge."

She thought about this for a long moment. It wasn't lost on her that the way he spoke, he left her no alternatives, no room for contradiction. Although she had said the magic word, he was still, in a way, in charge of the situation. She considered this carefully, trying to see if there was something about it she didn't, or shouldn't, accept or enjoy. There wasn't. Right now, in this, she trusted him to know her heart better than she did. She had no idea why, but it seemed right. She nodded slowly.

"I ... still don't really understand all of the ... you know. The _stuff_."

"The 'stuff'? Your eloquence floors me, my lady." She grumbled and he tightened his arm around her. "I am guessing you mean the fact that not only am I taking charge, but have done so in ways that seem like they should be ... hurtful?"

"That's a tactful way to put it." Her voice was edged with sarcasm.

Zevran cupped her chin and tilted her head up, making her meet his eyes. "Force. Pain. Humiliation. Being treated with contempt. You are wondering why these things turn you on, are you not?" Her deep blush delighted him. She nodded minutely and he smiled. "I honestly don't know. I just know that it's nothing to be ashamed of. They are common ingredients of pleasure in one such as you. Or myself, for that matter."

"You ... you also enjoy...?"

He laughed, then checked himself not to seem too patronising. "As I have told you before, I have learned to take what pleasure life puts in my path. It matters little to me what parts my lovers possess, what role they wish to play. I have preferences, true, but what it comes down to in the end is ... the need for a certain spark, between me and my partner. As for you and I, we have sparks aplenty, I think. No?"

Elena giggled quietly. "Yes. There's definitely some sparking going on."

"Good, then we agree. Anyway, I simply wanted you to know that, whatever anyone may say, your ... proclivities are not particularly unusual." He pulled apart from her slightly so that he could face her. His expression was soft, his voice serious. "Now, this is important: If I ever do anything you are not comfortable with, I want you to use the word I gave you, as you did just now. When you do, I will stop whatever I am doing and we will talk. As we are doing now. You must never be afraid to tell me if something feels wrong or if you simply don't want to do whatever it is. I will never knowingly do anything to hurt you, but I can never be certain how you will react to something. And if something scares you too much or hurts in a bad way, I want you to stop me. Okay?"

She smiled tremulously, feeling tears rising in her eyes again. His tenderness hurt her in ways she hadn't realised one _could_ hurt. It was a nice kind of pain, though. She swallowed, blinking away the tears. "Okay."

Zevran smiled and kissed her gently on the lips, then hugged her to him again. His voice was back to normal when he continued. "Now. Are you feeling up for some fun, or shall we just snuggle? We have a couple of hours before I should head back to my bunk. I could give you a massage, if you wish."

She glanced at him, thoughts racing. Had he just asked if ... He had, hadn't he? What was she supposed to answer? _How_ was she supposed to answer? She stared at his chest, where her finger was idly drawing a figure of eight. Her cheeks were hot. "I ... uh. I mean ... if you want..."

Zevran gave a low chuckle; she could swear she felt it physically reverberating through her body, setting her entire being aquiver. "As you desire," he said. "However, let's do things a little differently this time, hm? I will lead, you will follow. No force. You will simply do as I say. If it makes it any easier, well, we are in a castle - pretend it's mine, and you are a maid." Once again he clutched her chin, a little firmer this time, and looked into her eyes. "Can you do that? Are you willing to obey, and take the consequences if you do not?"

"Yes ... ser," she whispered, the honorific slotting neatly into place as if inevitable.

Zevran smirked. Oh, but she was lovely like this.


	4. Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein things get physical again, and our heroine gets further educated, and Zevran learns something as well.

Redcliffe castle slept peacefully. Only the occasional guard moved down its corridors, the clink and jingle of chainmail breaking the silence where they passed. A black cat prowled the gardens, pausing to prick its ears outside the window of one of the guest rooms. There was a murmur of voices inside, and the indistinct noises of human intimacy.

"Get off the bed," Zevran was saying. "Stand up. I want to have a proper look at you."

Elena complied meekly. Her feet burrowed into the thick sheepskin rug next to the bed as she stood. There was a sort of slow, deliberate precision to her movements, as if she was afraid she would fall apart if she moved too quickly. Which wasn't too far from the truth.

She turned to face him, picking nervously at the cloth of her shift. Zevran lounged on the bed, his back against the headboard. Pale hair framed his face; it occurred to her that it wasn't braided and in fact looked almost ... messy. It also occurred to her that he really wasn't wearing anything but those soft leather trousers, and they were only half laced. One of his hands rested on his thigh, drawing her eyes to his crotch. Tattoos showed just above the hem in a suggestively plunging pattern. Her blush deepened and she tore her eyes away, forcing her gaze upwards. Not that it helped much. The lamplight brought out his lean form perfectly, shadowing every chiseled muscle, his collarbones, the sinews of his throat. She found it fascinating. Until she met him she had never even considered the idea that bodies might be beautiful.

"Take off your nightgown," Zevran said, interrupting her thoughts.

Elena pulled the shift over her head. She looked away from him, too embarrassed in her nakedness to face his watchful gaze. Carefully she set the nightgown aside on the foot of the bed, ducking her head so that her hair partially hid her face. She fought not to begin wringing her hands in front of her in an attempt at hiding from him. Somehow she knew it would be pointless, and so she left them hanging at her sides.

Zevran watched her with a rather interesting mixture of fondness, amusement and arousal. She was so meek, so incredibly pure in her responses, so obvious in her willingness to do right -to please. And so very naked. Though he had seen her so before, the light had been much dimmer and the circumstances more intense. Now he had time to really look.

She wasn't his regular type, that was for sure - as far from 'voluptuous' as a woman could get while still being recognisably female. What little fat she had possessed when she had begun her journey had melted away in the face of road fare and countless battles. Even compared to the first time they had slept together, she was skinnier. He shook his head inwardly and made a note to try to make sure she ate more. As it was now, he had to admit that Elena looked closer to ten than twenty. Still, there was a swell to her hips that couldn't be ignored, and her breasts were small but round. Overall, the impression she gave was one of frailty, like her body might break if handled too roughly. Frailty and purity.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he was at all drawn to her. She was so unlike most of his past lovers. Perhaps it was the novelty that made her irresistible.

He lifted his hand and twirled a finger. "Be a good girl and turn around for me."

Elena obeyed, awkwardly turning on the spot. He could see she was digging her nails into her palms now, a nervous tick of hers. It made him smile. His eyes traced the curve of her back, the shadow of her spine, her rounded bottom. He slid over until he sat on the edge of the bed, reached up and let his hand follow the same lines. She twitched slightly at his touch and he could hear her breathing quicken slightly. Her skin was cool to the touch, its whiteness tinted gold in the light of the lamp. His own looked dark brown in comparison. He noticed little birthmarks here and there and amused himself by tracing lines to connect them. Then he placed a hand on her hip and turned her around to face him, continuing his gentle exploration.

"You are beautiful, do you know that?" he murmured. A quick glance at her face confirmed that she was blushing again - if she had ever stopped. Perhaps she thought he was toying with her, and maybe he could have at that, but he left the compliment as it was. He meant it.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against her belly, eliciting a small gasp. Soft kisses here and there, no apparent pattern. Just a movement upwards, until he had to stand up. He enjoyed the fact that he could actually look _down_ on her: He wasn't unusually tall for his kind, but she was unusually short for hers.

Bowing his head to her neck, Zevran inhaled deeply, savouring the scents that clung to her. Soap and cedar oil from the bath she had taken before dinner. The metal tang of magic potential. An undefinable note, weak but musky, that was unmistakably her own. She shivered slightly and he straightened again, pushed her hair back so it fell behind her shoulders and placed a finger under her chin. His thumb caressed her lips as he tilted her head back slightly.

"I think it's about time we put your mouth to use, no?" He sat down and pulled at her hips until she stood between his legs. "Get on your knees, girl."

Again she obeyed. It came so naturally to her that it almost frightened her. She had never handed herself over, not to anyone. She was loyal, but never unquestionably. She was dutiful, but only as long as duty coincided with what she knew was right. In the Circle, most of her tutors had loved her critical mindset and inquisitiveness, even as they despaired over her future in what was basically a glorified prison. And yet here she was, following without thought, without question. Any hesitance was merely due to her being so nervous her stomach was threatening to tie itself into a knot.

So she sunk to her knees and found herself facing his groin. He ordered her to unlace his trousers and she did, gingerly picking at the strings, feeling her cheeks flush red as she exposed him. Zevran took her hand and guided it, wrapping her fingers firmly around the base of his quickly hardening member. She swallowed, torn between wanting to stare and wanting to look away and hide her face from his eyes. She hadn't realised until now that the tattoos that wrapped around his hips actually extended ... all the way. Now she looked at the thin, elegant lines of black ink sweeping along the shaft and ending with a flourish just below the head.

"Beautiful, are they not?" Zevran grinned down at her, preening. "Though I don't suppose you have much to compare with. You will have to take my word for it, this is expert work. Now, you are going to suck it."

The abrupt change of pace and tone in his voice startled her. She hesitated, letting long moments pass as she chewed on her lower lip. When finally she glanced uncertainly at his face, he had dropped the grin. In fact he looked so stern it frightened her. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up (the gesture was becoming familiar to her, and intensely pleasurable), and then there was a stinging pain as he slapped her cheek. For a few moments, she was in shock. It wasn't that he had struck her particularly hard, but ... she was fairly sure that no one had ever slapped her before. Tried to kill or maim her in so many unpleasant ways, yes, but not slap. But what surprised more was her reaction; how a wave of heat had washed over her, how heavily she breathed, how she tingled and thrilled.

"Focus," he snapped. "Do as I say or I will take your mouth by force, and that will be far more unpleasant." His voice softened as he continued, "Now, start exploring. Kiss, lick, take the head in your mouth. You'll get the hang of it."

And she would, that much was obvious from the moment she started. Though nervous and fumbling, it seemed to Zevran that she took the same approach to this as she did to all learning: She was careful, deliberate, and listened to all instructions and signals he gave her. And he rewarded her by being honest about his pleasure, and gently suggesting alternatives when needed. Soon she had covered every inch of his sex with kisses, and licked clear, salty liquid from its tip. She wrapped her lips around him, her swirling tongue making him moan softly and tighten his hold around her hand where it gripped him. He showed her how to move her hand in time with her mouth, stroking his shaft as her lips stroked the head.

Her hair was falling forwards and she kept sweeping it aside not to get it in her mouth. He reached out and gathered it behind her head, holding it gently there as he started guiding her into taking him in deeper. Elena registered the soft pressure on the back of her head as she would have an order. He wasn't forcing her head down, merely indicating his desire, and she followed. Her skin was flushed and she was breathing heavily through her nose. Now and then she glanced up at him as if begging approval, and he rewarded her with a smile every time.

Her initial hesitance had been mostly overcome by her eagerness to please. The idea of pleasuring a man with her mouth had never really occurred to her before, but she found she was relishing the opportunity. It was hard to say if it was the act itself she enjoyed, or if it was Zevran's obvious pleasure. For now they were one and the same and it was all she needed.

Not that it was without difficulties. Her mouth was small and her jaws soon began to protest their near-unhinged position. And as she took him in deeper and deeper with every careful movement, she quickly realised she was about to gag on him.

When she did, she looked up at him, a faintly panicked look in her eyes. He chuckled softly and held her head more firmly. She had tensed up, and so he started moving her head with his hand, pushing until his cock hit the back of her mouth and she convulsed once more. He pulled her away slowly, and then did it again, and again. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she had started pushing at him with her hands, probably instinctively. He had to fight the urge to ravish her. "Such a sensitive little mouth you have," he said instead and let go of her hair, caressing an escaped curl out of her face. She looked like she was about to cry. He leaned down and made sure he had her full attention before he spoke softly: "You've done very well."

Again, that wave of heat. No, it wasn't exactly heat, but something deeper than that. Elena would try to describe it to herself later, and fail - what was it, relief? excitement? pleasure? Perhaps all of them. An emotion so complex there was no word for it. It seemed to begin at the edges of her being and rush towards the center, inwards, leaving her lightheaded, limbs tingling, with a weight in her belly that seemed to anchor her to the ground.

He had praised her, and she thought she had never been so happy in her life.

Zevran watched her soft, blissful expression and smiled. So this was how deep the vein ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene turned out very differently from how I first imagined it. For one, I had planned on continuing way beyond the point where it ended - but it didn't feel right to. Sometimes you just gotta let your characters be alone with each other for a bit.


	5. At ease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroine and her friends simply have a nice day in Redcliffe. (Except Alistair who's made the butt of everyone's jokes.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, at this point, the fic started developing into something other than pure smut. I still can't decide whether this was a good thing or not, but it's fun to write.

"Nightmares, again?" Morrigan inquired.

As usual it was difficult to tell if her tone was mocking, disinterested, mockingly disinterested, or if her strange inflection was simply a result of having Flemeth for a mother. Elena chose to act as though she actually cared about her welfare. She was trying to make friends, after all, and suspicion never seemed to be very helpful with that. She finished yawning and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and shook her head. "Thankfully not. I guess I'm not used to sleeping in an actual bed."

Zevran hid his amused smirk by tearing the end off a loaf and stuffing it in his mouth. He was impressed; Elena was an amazing liar. She fooled people by always telling the truth, offering answers to implied questions without missing a beat and thus avoiding further prying. He wondered if evasion was an innate skill of hers, or if there was some part of her schooling as a mage that had taught her.

"I know what you mean," Leliana said as she took the loaf from Zevran and helped herself to a piece. She spread a thick layer of butter on it. "And now, we will get used to beds, only to hit the road again," she sighed. She stared wistfully at the bread with its golden coating of butter, letting it represent all the comforts of civilisation, and then bit into it.

"Maybe we should go find the Dalish first. They've got these houses on wheels, right? I bet they're comfortable. Maybe we could have a few, and not have to sleep on the ground!" Alistair waved a spoon in the air as he talked, a bowl of porridge before him. The breakfast provided by the castle kitchens was far more varied and luxurious than any meal they ate while travelling, and Alistair especially seemed to be taking advantage. Apart from the porridge, he had half a loaf of bread, a plate of cheese and cold meats, several apples and a leg of chicken in front of him. And this was his second helping.

"It's a nice idea Alistair, but I really don't think their aravels are for sale," Wynne remarked. She was content with a cup of tea and a boiled egg, and watched Alistair eat with some fascination.

Elena yawned again. "You should all be glad Sten left for the blacksmith already, or he'd admonish you for being weak. A warrior does not pine for the comfort of a soft bed! He needs only his weapon! And also honour!" Her attempt at mimicking the deep, stern voice of the qunari drew chuckles from around the table. She helped herself to what was left of the bread, and piled crumbly cheese and a thick slice of ham on top of it. "Anyway, we already decided, we're heading to Orzammar next. I'm sure they've got very comfortable lodgings there."

"Yeah, but you're the only one of us who's gonna fit in their beds." Alistair grinned, prodding her shoulder with his spoon.

"Oh-ho-ho, let's make jokes about Elena being short, because it's so original and funny," Elena grumbled and took a bite from her open-faced sandwich.

Zevran watched her eat, recalling his observations the night before. Her appetite was healthy enough, definitely bigger than one would assume in such a lightweight. Seeing her sit next to Alistair, both of them wolfing down food as if they weren't sure they would ever get to eat again, he wondered if it had something to do with being a Grey Warden. Not that it mattered - she still clearly needed to eat more. And probably sleep more as well, but right now that would mean less time for ... other activities.

His thoughts drifted. It had been a long, amazing night. He had put her through her paces, leading her gently but firmly through a dance as intricate as it was intimate, opening her eyes to the breadth of sexual expression available to the races of man. And, of course, his own inventiveness in particular. If he concentrated, he could still feel the taste of her in his mouth, even now. Her smell lingered on his fingers, her ecstatic moans echoing in his mind.

Morrigan's voice pierced his reverie. "You seem unusually ... pensive, Zevran. Did you also not sleep well?"

He looked up at her, blinking. "Oh, well, you know how it is."

"No-o, I don't think I do."

A rather well-endowed maid was leaning over the table, picking up empty dishes. Zevran watched her pointedly until she left, then turned back to Morrigan. "As lovely as I find your company, after so long on the road, being surrounded by all this ... luxury," - he gestured vaguely around him, a suggestive grin on his face - "has me very distracted."

Morrigan rolled her eyes and went back to her breakfast.

 

Elena sat down at the edge of the pier and took off her shoes and stockings. Then she let her legs dangle, splashing her feet in the water.

It seemed like that kind of day. Her companions had scattered after breakfast, each intent on their own business. She wasn't even sure where all of them were. Alistair had remained in the castle, catching up with Arl Eamon. Wynne had been accosted by the Arlessa firing off a barrage of questions about what was likely to happen to her son in the Circle. Where the others had gone off to, she didn't know, and it didn't matter. For once, no one felt the need to watch each others' backs. It was a very nice change of pace.

Lake Calenhad glittered in the sun. Somewhere on the other side was her home - well, her former home. The thought somewhat ruined her mood. Even if she could leave the Wardens and go back to the Circle, there was hardly anything to come back to after Uldred's betrayal. So many were dead, many by her own hands. Even though they had been unrecognisable abominations, it was a difficult memory.

Her home, as she had known it, was gone.

But then again. There was a Blight to contend with, an archdemon to slay. Chances were her future was much too short for her to worry about where to spend it. She sighed, rubbing her face. So much for setting her worries aside and enjoying the beautiful day.

"Hello, pet."

Elena turned around and lifted her face, squinting. Zevran had the sun behind him; a halo of golden light surrounded him. "Hi Zev." She smiled.

He sat down next to her with his back against a pile, facing inland so that he could soak up the sun. "Ah... this. This is lovely," he mumbled, stretching his limbs until his joints popped audibly. "I can almost imagine being back in Antiva."

"I thought you said it's always raining in Antiva."

He laughed at the earnest look on her face. There was no suspicion there, nor any sign of the 'gotcha' attitude Alistair had when he caught people contradicting themselves. As far as he could tell, Elena simply wanted to know about the weather conditions of his home city. "Do you remember everything I tell you?"

"I remember most things people tell me," she said with a shrug, returning her eyes to the water.

"Well, as long as you don't _believe_ everything they say ... But yes, you are correct. Antiva is quite damp. But there is more to a place than its weather, yes? Specifically, it is the smell of fish and rotting seaweed that brings me back."

She giggled, and then they simply sat together in comfortable silence. Small waves lapped gently against her feet and the rocks underneath the pier, and Elena could see schools of tiny fish feeding among the piles. She wondered if they would always be that tiny, or if they were young fish that would get much bigger. Then she wondered how big fish could get in a lake like Calenhad. Then she wondered if anyone had ever bothered trying to find out.

She shook her head with a rueful smile, remembering how she had pestered everyone around her with questions like these as a child. How frustrated she had been when people not only didn't know the answers, but didn't seem to think it would be interesting to find out. How surprised they had been to find out that, as she grew older, she didn't stop asking. She was compulsively curious, and it didn't seem to pass with time, as it apparently did for most people.

Eventually she had learned to let most questions remain unvoiced, but sometimes they were out of her mouth before she knew it. At best, it earned her a few weird looks. At worst, she offended someone like Morrigan.

When next she looked at Zevran, he had leaned his head back against the pile and closed his eyes. Sunlight brought out the bronze tones in his skin, and she was reminded of the little coppery snakes she sometimes spotted curled up on warm rocks by the side of the road. Cats also came to mind: Deadly efficiency coupled with unrepentant hedonism. Zevran wasn't the sort to ask a lot of questions, though he readily answered most of hers. She wondered if he really believed that he was as simple a soul as he claimed to be.

Elena reached out to trace the tattoo on his cheek, but her fingers barely touched his skin before he held her wrist in a firm grip. "Disturbing a sleeping Crow is unwise," he said with a wry grin, eyes still closed. "Sometimes my reflexes get the better of me."

"Right, sorry," she stammered. He held on to her wrist a few moments, long enough for her mind to conjure up vivid memories of how he'd grasped it last night, when she had been on her back and he'd been plowing her ... She pulled her hand back, clearing her throat. She could feel the heat of a blush on her face and quickly went back to contemplating fish.

Zevran looked at the Warden out of the corner of his eye. She was splashing her feet in the water again, emerald eyes staring intently at Maker knew what. He smiled to himself. It was nice to see her so relaxed.

Tonight, he thought, he would bring ropes.

 

"Alistair, you ridiculous man!"

"What? _What?_ What have I done?!"

Leliana laughed. "She was flirting with you! And you just sent her off!"

"Indeed," Zevran agreed, "the young lady was quite obviously coming on to you. Do you think she makes such interesting double entendres at every traveler that comes to this tavern?"

"Alistair's idea of speaking euphemistically about sex involves 'licking lampposts'," Elena informed them, giggling hopelessly. "I shouldn't be too surprised he missed this one."

"Hey! I told you that in confidence! You are a mean, mean ... meanie!"

Alistair fumed as the other three collapsed on the table, laughing. He was beginning to regret turning down Arl Eamon's offer of a whiskey by the fire after supper, and instead heading to the tavern with his friends. True, the Arl and him had a lot of catching up to do, but he had already spent all day listening to him talk about the war and now he really just wanted a bit of a break. And here he was, being made the butt of everyone's jokes. Again. Both Elena and Leliana were wiping tears from their eyes by the time they calmed down.

Elena said, "Seriously though, Bella clearly likes you. You should talk to her." She was smiling widely, her cheeks bright red from the laughter and the warmth - and probably the beer, even though she'd only had a little. She could feel it going to her head quickly but didn't really mind. It had turned into a wonderful night, everyone actually feeling safe and relaxed. In fact, she was more at ease here and now than she could recall ever having been at the Tower.

"I wouldn't know what to say," Alistair pointed out, having decided to play along. "I didn't even get what she was trying to tell me. I thought she was talking about food. If I tried to have a conversation with her I wouldn't know if we were planning dinner or our wedding night!"

"But of course! Leading such a sheltered life until now, we cannot expect you to know much about courtship. I could teach you a thing or two, if you wish," Zevran offered magnanimously.

"Yes, Alistair, let Zevran teach you. You could lick his lamppost!" Leliana blurted, and Elena nearly fell off her chair with laughter.

Zevran grinned and took a swig of his ale. "While I would not say no to having my 'lamppost' licked by such a fine specimen of manhood as this one, something tells me it is not to be. Alas," he sighed theatrically.

"You people, I swear! Yesterday Wynne gave me a lecture on how children are made. You're all conspiring against me!"

Leliana gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye. "Don't worry Alistair, we're just looking out for you. It's just that you are so pure and innocent, it's difficult not to want to ... tease you a little." She emphasised her words by pinching his cheek as if he were a child.

"Meh," Alistair grunted, finishing off his pint and staring morosely at the empty container. "If anyone's pure and innocent here, it's Elena."

Elena and Zevran exchanged the briefest of glances, and she was glad she was already flushed. She grinned impishly at Alistair. "Well, the difference between us is that you don't threaten to set people on fire when they bother you."

"To be fair," Leliana said, "neither do you. At most you threaten to threaten us."

"She threatened me once."

Leliana giggled. "Oh my, Zev - whatever did you do to deserve that?"

"You mean besides attempted murder? The better question would be, what _didn't_ he do to deserve that," Alistair observed wryly.

"This is true," Zevran agreed. "I am most deserving."


	6. Childhood dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroine is shown the ropes, and speaks about her childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut! More conversation!
> 
> I couldn't quite tell from the dialogue in Dragon Age II whether Warden Amell's mother lived in Kirkwall or Ferelden. So I wrote her background story as it suited me.

Ropes.

She would never look the same way at ropes again. They were everywhere, used for so many things, perfectly utilitarian. And sure, she had seen people tied up, now and then.

But never like this.

He had started gently, letting the ropes caress her skin as he worked. Their surface was coarse but they were well used and yielded easily into the most complex of knots. He asked her to put her hands behind her back, and he strung her wrists together, and so far it seemed straightforward enough. But then he let the rope run up and over her shoulder, then around her chest underneath her breasts, pinning her arms to her body, and then up over the other shoulder.

He worked in silence, keeping her body near his, letting his hands run over her skin as he looped the ropes around her. Now and then he went back on himself, checking a friction, pushing fingers between the ropes and her skin, asking her how it felt. Her answers were vague, mumbling, and he pinched her and told her to focus. "It has been some time since I did this," he had said before he started. "You will need to tell me if anything pinches, or if some part of your body starts tingling uncomfortably." But it was difficult for her. The more the ropes tightened around her, the more she could feel her mind drifting off.

Zevran tied off the last knot, eyeing his handiwork critically. Elena's arms were tightly bound behind her back, with the ropes running both above and below her breasts as well as between them. It wasn't the prettiest he'd managed, but she hardly knew the difference. She sat crosslegged on the bed, slightly slumped, her eyes closed. The ropes formed a kind of handle in the back, and when he tugged at it, her body followed bonelessly. When he made her look at him her eyes were glassy, a blissful smile on her lips. He smiled and kissed them gently. He wasn't surprised at her reaction, but perhaps the immediacy and intensity of it.

The ropes squeezed around her breasts, emphasising them. Her nipples were erect, and she whimpered when he gently brushed his fingers over them. A light pinch elicited a gasp; when he took one in his mouth she moaned. He kept touching her, here and there, moving her body into different positions as he explored. She thrilled at his touch, whimpering and gasping, arching tensely one moment and relaxing the next.

Eventually he piled cushions on the bed, laying her across them so that they supported her hips, her bottom thrust into the air. He nudged her legs apart gently. She could feel air move against her sex; it was moist even though he had barely touched her there. Now fingers were inside her, she knew not how many, but he was sliding them in and out rhythmically. His other hand slipped beneath her, fingers pressing against her clit. He had spent at least an hour the previous night finding out exactly how to touch her, and now he went straight for the finish, a relentless onslaught that pushed her into a shuddering climax in a matter of minutes. Her body went still, limp.

He mounted her then, his cock slipping inside her with ease. Her juices covered his hands and had run down the inside of her thighs. He fucked her slowly, gently, keeping his own pleasure at bay until she was once more tensing up around him and whimpers escaped her lips. Then he leaned over her, moving his hand around her waist and finding her clit once more. He kept moving inside her at that easy pace as he caressed her, building up her tension. She whined and whimpered, squirming weakly beneath him. It was overwhelming; she was so recently climaxed, and she tried to ask him to stop, but her body wouldn't obey. She wanted more, and though she didn't feel as though she could handle it, she trusted him. If he thought she could ... she could.

And so, with his inexorable effort, she peaked again, letting out a guttural moan quickly stifled by the mattress. Her body twitched and shuddered and her sex squeezed him tightly in countless spasms. He let himself go then, finishing with a few quick, hard thrusts, until he joined in her climax. He moaned breathlessly, panting as all his pent-up desire finally found release. For long moments, he remained buried deep in her, his hands gripping her hips tightly. Her body glistened below him, his own likewise covered in a sheen of perspiration.

Before he collapsed on the bed beside her, he grinned slightly - he would need to get rid of those ropes.

 

Ropes and cushions lay in a heap by the side of the bed. They slumbered together, lightly drifting in and out of sleep for some time. Then Zevran got up and opened the window a crack, rousing them somewhat. They cuddled on the bed, sharing a cup of wine.

He said, "Tell me of your childhood."

"What is there to tell? You know I grew up in the Circle Tower."

He gave her a stern look. "Elena, you ask pretty much everyone you meet about their parents and their childhood, but every time someone returns the question, you dodge. Well, right now there's just us, and I'm not asking. Tell me of your childhood."

"But I..." She sighed. There was no evading this time, she supposed. She settled against him, slipping her arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "I was born in Kirkwall."

There were faint memories of sun-scorched walls, alleys with dusty air, the clanging of great chains. She wasn't sure if they were real or if they had been made up later during late nights spent in the Circle library, studying every volume on Kirkwall she could find. The memory of her mother's laugh, bubbling like a spring brook, she thought was real. It was all she had. Through her studies, she had gathered that Kirkwall was a beautiful place on the surface, but rotten with corruption underneath. And strict on magic. When her mother had discovered her affinity, she had sent her away. She had been four years old.

"I was fostered by a widow in a small village in Ferelden. Some old friend of my mother's, I think. Her name was Malin. She told me I had siblings who'd been locked up by the templars in Kirkwall. Apparently their Circle isn't very forgiving. So mother wanted me to have a chance at living life as a free woman, and sent me to Ferelden."

"But you ended up in the Circle anyhow, no? Did your mother's friend give you up?"

"No. She didn't give me up."

Her magic was primal in nature, rooted in her emotions and calling upon the most basic forces of nature. It was becoming more and more erratic, and when she was five she was no longer allowed far from the cottage, for fear that she would slip up and be discovered. Malin did her best to teach her what little she knew of meditation and inner calm, but it didn't help.

Most of Elena's memories from that time were dark, but not because anyone had treated her poorly. She had been a frightened child because of what hunted her in her dreams. Every night, it was there, and it got worse as time passed. Most nights she refused to go to bed, defying her foster-mother so stubbornly that eventually Malin stopped trying. She'd let the girl sit in front of the fireplace and play with her toys. Eventually exhaustion would take Elena and she slept fitfully for a few hours.

One night, as she dreamt, she was caught. She had always been able to run away before, or to hide until she woke up, but this time she was cornered and there was nowhere to run, no way to hide. A mere slip of a girl, but with forces of nature just within her reach ... she fought back, for the first time in her life. She had no idea what to do, but she thought of home and the security of the fireplace and then fire enveloped her and her hunter alike.

Come dawn, there was no cottage, and no widow Malin. Only coals and ashes, and villagers, a templar among them. And Elena, six years old, unscathed in the midst of the ruins.

Elena's voice was strangely empty as she recounted the events to Zevran, such as they had been succinctly described to herself as a child. She couldn't remember that night at all - except for the ashes. She remembered the ashes.

"You know I have some ability to heal. When I draw upon forces that may harm me, I seem to heal myself instinctively at the same time. I had no idea at the time, of course. It was Irving - the First Enchanter - who deduced what had happened. But that was later. All I knew right then was that I had burned down my own home. They ... they found Malin's remains, too."

The villagers, some of whom had doted on her before, turned away in fear and disgust. The templar kept her at arm's length the entire way to the Circle, treating her as though she was dangerous.

"Which I suppose I was. But I was also a child. I think about that journey sometimes, and wonder at the man who escorted me. He must have listened to me cry myself to sleep every night. Was there no sympathy at all?"

Still, he was not unkind to her, and she arrived at the Circle safely. The templars were wary of her, but among the mages she found a familiy of sorts. First Enchanter Irving took her under his wings. He quickly taught her what she needed to guard her sleep. When she was assigned mentors to teach her how to harness her powers, they found her an eager student. She was a bookish child and acted older than most of her peers, and she never escaped the rumours about how dangerous she was, but for all that she still managed to find one or two friends her own age. Eventually, her 'infernal' nature became a gentle joke.

"And now here you are," Zevran said to fill the silence that now fell. Elena 'mm'ed in response, drawing closer to him. He drew a deep breath, almost a sigh. "Well. I for one am happy you ended up on this path. It's how it crossed mine, after all. But I don't understand why you left the Circle. The way you speak of it, it seems you were quite happy there."

"I was. It ... things happened. It's complicated. I had just undergone the Harrowing-"

"That is some kind of test, yes?"

Elena laughed bitterly. "It's supposed to be secret, but honestly I don't care. You're thrown conscious into the Fade and have to make it out alive without being possessed. If you succeed, you're made a full member of the Circle. If you refuse, you're made tranquil. If you fail, a templar stabs you in the face."

"Oh. That's ... harsh."

"No worse than being tortured, I'm sure," she said with false levity. "Anyway ... you know the mage who poisoned the Arl - Jowan? He was a friend of mine, we were schooled together. Nice kid. Actually he was quite a bit older than me, but he always felt like a kid ... Anyway, he was pretty much useless as a mage. He was suspected of practising blood magic and tried to get me to help him with his plot to flee the Circle. I ratted him out, because I was pretty sure they were right about him, and as thanks Irving made me get involved in a plot to expose him. The Knight-Commander didn't like my involvement. Well, Greagoir never liked anything to do with mages and especially not me, being Irving's favourite ... I think he relished the chance to knock me down a few pegs."

"Wait a minute - Greagoir? So _that_ is where you got the name for the dog!"

"Haha, yes, you got me. Anyway, as luck would have it, there was a Grey Warden there who'd taken an interest in me as well. So I was recruited." Her smile faltered and she sighed. "To be honest, had I known the Grey Wardens would put me through yet another stupid, life-threatening ritual I don't know if I would have gone."

"Once in a lifetime seems quite enough," Zevran agreed.

Elena nodded. She wondered if Zevran knew what had been done to her. Maybe he'd overheard her talking to Alistair about it. If so, he knew how short her life was to be, even if they beat the Blight and survived. But if he didn't ... well, she didn't have the heart to bring it up right now. It wasn't as though they were planning a future together, but she thought maybe it would sadden him. Either that, or he would make it into some sort of joke. There were limits to what she could stomach, even when it came from Zevran.

She pressed up against him, hiding her face against his neck and taking in his scent in an effort to clear her mind. "Still some time before dawn," she pointed out and nipped at him.

"The itch has returned, I see..." He chuckled.


	7. Asking for it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our band of heroes spends one last day (and night) in Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh. This chapter really did not want to be written and I don't like it at all. But I have so much other stuff coming that I just had to throw this out there to get a move on. The smutty part got cut short because I found it impossible to write. Perhaps I'll come back and fill it in some other day.
> 
> Also this is the last time I write a damn teenager. Ugh, so melodramatic.

Elena was thinking of ropes.

After breakfast she had gotten pulled into a very uncomfortable political discussion with Alistair, the Arl and his wife. Now that she was no longer caught in a vice of terror and grief, the Arlessa's disdain for Alistair was a palpable thing. It was a peculiar way to express gratitude, Elena thought sourly.

She fled them as soon as she could, instead accompanying Sten to the smithy to check on the progress of his new sword. Amazingly, it was nearly finished. The blacksmith had huffed at her surprise, exclaiming that any smith worth his mettle would have good stock lying around because you "never knew when adventuring heroes in need of a greatsword might pop by". Sten seemed pleased and was disinclined to leave the smithy, preferring to watch the man work, so Elena left him there.

Now she wandered around Redcliffe, thinking of ropes, and the freedom they offered.

Freedom, and its opposite, had been on her mind lately. She felt as though her life was defined by invisible chains.

She was bound to the Circle. Somewhere in Denerim was a hidden repository. Somewhere, among frost-lined shelves and countless phials of blood, was her phylactery. As long as it remained, she could never disappear. No matter how far she ran, someone would be able to find her.

She was bound to the Grey Wardens. Or, more accurately, she was bound to the darkspawn. The taint ran in her blood, stronger with each passing day. The archdemon's call echoed through her dreams. Though with time she would be given respite and some semblance of control, she knew that eventually, the taint would define her. She would be but a vessel, a vessel that was falling apart. She would go into the Deep Roads, because there would be nowhere else she could go to face that enemy.

She was bound to her sense of what was right. Ever since Ostagar - no, before that, ever since Jowan asked her to help him escape - her life had been one impossible choice after another. Impossible because she really had very little choice. The more practical-minded of her companions scoffed at her righteousness, her inability to turn aside people who asked for her aid. They didn't seem to realise that she could no more choose the practical-but-morally-questionable option than Greg could choose not to be a mabari.

She was bound by family. This chain was in some ways the heaviest. It had certainly been unexpected, that she would come to find yet another family, especially one so strange and disparate as this one. Not all of them were easy to love, but she was stubborn enough to at least find qualities worthy of respect in all of them. And although it was a good thing, it also made their mission harder, because the thought of failure became all the more unbearable when she knew it might mean seeing them fall. She needed their help, but she became less and less willing to risk their lives. And they, hers.

In a way, she supposed, everyone had ties. To duty, to family, to the circumstances that defined them. Even someone like Morrigan could never be completely free. But Elena wondered if perhaps she carried more chains than most.

Last night, the ropes had freed her. The less she could move, the more she felt like her burdens didn't matter. When the ropes bound her, her hands were no longer free to carry anything. She had experienced it before, she realised: He did not need ropes to make her feel that way. But with the ropes, the effect had been immediate and complete. Nevermind that she could have burned them off her body. It was the symbolism that fettered and freed her.

She found herself in the village square and stopped, straightening her back as she looked around. Mayor Murdoch passed her, throwing a small salute. They had saved Redcliffe, as they had saved the Circle. It was after that, when they had set out for the Urn of the Sacred Ashes, that she had first asked Zevran to join her in her tent. She didn't know then what she was doing, what she was starting. She didn't know now if she would have dared, had she known.

But she wouldn't go back; wouldn't change a thing if she could.

 

"Maker's breath! How can that woman still hate me, after all these years?"

Alistair flopped down onto the sun-warmed rock with a groan. Leliana took a seat beside him. They were perched on a cliff above Redcliffe, with a brilliant view of the castle and with lake Calenhad spread before them like a glittering blanket. "Old habits die hard?" she suggested. "But I agree, it's rather unfair."

"Even if I _had_ been Eamon's bastard and not Maric's, it's not like it would've been _my_ fault. And it's not like I was the one spreading rumours. All I wanted was to play with the dogs and bother no one." Alistair sighed and laid back on the cliff, draping an arm across his eyes to protect them from the sun.

"Maybe she is embarrassed at how she treated you. Sometimes when people know they are at fault, instead of admitting it, they double down."

There was something remote about Leliana's voice, as though she wasn't truly speaking to him, or about him. He glanced at her from underneath his arm, but she was turned toward the scenery and he couldn't make out her face. "Hmm, maybe. Anyway, thanks for getting me out of there. The castle was starting to feel claustrophobic. I wish they'd just hurry up with Bodahn's wagon so we can get going again."

Leliana laughed. "You want to be off again so soon? Haven't we earned a little rest?" She looked down at him. His arm hid most of his expression, but his lips were pursed in what she had come to think of as his sulky face. Nudging him gently, she said, "That frown doesn't suit you. What if it gets stuck on your face! What would Bella say?"

Despite himself, Alistair grinned. "Considering what a fool I acted yesterday, she'd probably be relieved."

"So ... have you really never been with a woman?"

"What?" He propped himself up onto his elbows, glaring at the bard. First Elena, now her! Alistair would've been flattered if he thought they were being anything but nosy. "Am I seriously the only one of us who's not constantly thinking about..."

She giggled when his voice trailed off and his glare was replaced by a look of vague embarrassment. "About sex? Yes, yes you are."

He grunted and looked away from her, letting his eyes sweep over his childhood home. Yes, he was eager to be off. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a chance to rest, to not have to walk around in plate and mail all the time, constantly alert ... But this place tugged at him, chafed parts of his soul he preferred not to think about. It reminded him of family and his lack thereof, and of inescapable duties. Although to be fair, right now the sight of it mostly served as a welcome distraction from Leliana's prodding.

She was, however, relentless. "It just seems odd to me. You are handsome and true of heart ... if a bit awkward. But even that can be endearing. It seems like there should be girls tripping over each other to get your attention."

He glanced her, managing a wry grin. "Leliana, are you coming on to me? Suddenly I'm scared. I know what happens to the men you seduce. Should I be worried?"

"Oh, no," she smirked. "Had Loghain hired me instead of Zevran, you would already be dead."

"Phew! That's a relief. I think." After a while he just had to ask: "So ... I'm handsome, huh?"

 

"We're leaving tomorrow morning," Elena announced as the companions gathered round the dinner table, accompanied by Arl Eamon and a decimated but determined host of servants.

Alistair mock-pouted. "But we've only been here two days! I'm sure the Blight can wait another two or three. Or four."

"I thought you were anxious to be off." Leliana raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, but then I remembered the food. I'll miss the food," he responded, eyeing the dishes being brought in as they spoke.

The younger Warden shrugged, watching impatiently as a maid served up food on her plate. "We have everything we need. There's really no reason to delay any longer." _Except personal ones_. She sighed, tearing her eyes from the food to glance at Zevran. He was at the other end of the table and appeared distracted by something, but lifted his head and met her eyes as if he felt them on him. She hoped he would make tonight count.

"So," Morrigan said, and Elena twitched her head to meet her piercing stare. "Orzammar next, hmm?"

"Yes, that's the plan. Oh, and when I looked through our equipment earlier, I found that control rod we got in Sulcher's pass. I think we'll make a quick detour to Honnleath and see if we can pick us up a golem before heading to Orzammar."

"Is that wise?" Sten rumbled. "Gathering an army one soldier at a time hardly seems efficient."

"I thought it might come in handy when we deal with the dwarves. Somehow I doubt they're very impressed with us surface dwellers, generally."

"Well, it can't hurt," Arl Eamon said diplomatically. "Though I would advise you not to tarry."

 

It was their last night in Redcliffe, and he came to her earlier than he had the nights before. They fell into each others' arms, pressing bodies and lips together with a passion and hunger that might have surprised them, had they been at all capable of wondering at it.

Some time later, when they had torn off their clothing and consumed each others' bodies until they both felt reasonably sated, they sprawled on the bed with lazy grins on their faces. "That was ... different," Zevran commented. "I think you left marks on my back. Did my pet suddenly grow claws?"

Elena giggled briefly. "I was just thinking, before you came ... it's a long way to Orzammar."

He rolled over to look at her, propping his head up on his elbow. She was lying on her stomach, cheek resting on her crossed arms. He reached out and brushed hair out of her face, as he had done so many times before. "I know," he sighed. "Which is why I was wondering, is there anything in particular you would like to ... experience, tonight? I'm not saying it's up to you what happens next, of course, but ... indulge me. I know you have a dirty mind. What fantasies has it been entertaining?"

Elena blushed faintly. "Uhm ... nothing that comes to mind," she said evasively.

Zevran grinned inwardly. She was an amazing liar as long as she told the truth, but when she didn't... "Don't lie to me," he said sternly.

"I'm not," she mumbled, hiding her face in her arms under the pretense of rubbing her eyes.

He was upon her then, straddling her back with a fistful of her hair in his hand. He pulled her head back and twisted it so that he could see the side of her face. "Do you know what happens to lying whores?" he growled. "Do you want to find out?"

"I... Ah... I..." stammered, her eyes wide with fear even as she panted. He relaxed his hold ever so slightly.

"Go on, pet."

Her blush deepend. "I ... might..?"

It took him a few moments to realise that she had actually answered his last question, just as he had asked it. Then he grinned. "What was that?" he drawled. "You _want_ to be _punished_?"

Elena said nothing, merely chewed on her lip, shivering beneath him.

"Say it," he ordered in a low voice.

"I... I w-want..." Long moments passed; Zevran waited patiently. "I want you to punish me," she finally managed.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just by her ear. "You want pain?"

Her breathing was quick, ragged, and she had squeezed her eyes shut. "Y-yes. Please," she whimpered.

"Isn't that a lucky coincidence. I want to hurt you."

The words set her on fire. Since their conversation two nights ago, since the ropes last night, the nagging worries that there was something wrong with her for feeling this way had mostly abated, and so she was free to simply ... fall. And now she burned and fell, trusting, tumbling into that dark, intense space where nothing existed but his will.

He let go of her hair and leaned to the side, fetching a few coils of rope from the floor. With the first he tied her hands together and then drew the loose end of the rope around the ornamental woodwork of the headboard. He pulled, forcing her to extend her arms above her head. Then he got off her back and deftly tied her ankles to the bedposts. He shoved a pillow underneath her hips - not as high as the night before, but simply to afford himself a better striking angle.

As Zevran had come to expect, her response was vivid and immediate. Her eyes were wide, her breathing quick. She whimpered softly every time he touched her.

Once again he lifted her head. "We can't have you waking the whole castle," he said and gripped her jaw, squeezing, forcing her mouth open. A balled up handkerchief was stuffed inside, and then he tied another tightly around her head so that it ran between her teeth. She made a small, muffled sound and he chortled, patting her cheek gently.

He paused and listened to her breathing. She was nervous, he could tell - nervous and excited. All well and good. He had given her a few tastes of pain, a pinch here and there, a few swats on her ass when he took her, but he had never made it the main event. She would have no idea what to expect now.

Leaning over, he spoke softly into her ear. "Tap the bed if you need me to pause or stop. Or hum a tune."

She nodded her understanding and he pressed his lips gently against her temple. Then he straightened, gazing down at her quivering form as he carefully prepared a rope by looping it around his hand and elbow. Rope flogging had never been his favourite, and he really would have preferred to introduce her to some nice supple leather. But for now, this would have to do - after he warmed her up with his hands of course.

He grinned wolfishly. It would be another long, interesting night.


	8. Just like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein there's lots of talking.

The room alotted to them in the barracks had a slightly grimy mirror hanging on the wall, and Zevran studied his own face in it while he carefully braided his hair. He had to admit he didn't look his best. Three nights of very little sleep - some rest this had been. But it had been worth it.

Now they would be on the road again, with little to do during nights other than sleep or keep watch. Hopefully, whatever lodgings they might get in Orzammar would afford them a bit of privacy. However uncertain a prospect, it was something to look forward to.

He headed back to his bunk to pack his belongings. With a sigh he stowed away the gorgeous boots Elena had somehow procured for him, but only after having a good sniff at the leather. He had worn them constantly over the last couple of days. No telling when he might next get the chance. There was no way he would wear them while travelling, considering the state of most roads here.

And to think he had once run off to join the Dalish. He chuckled at his own folly. He was a city elf, through and through. While he had come to quite like Ferelden, trudging through mud would never be a favourite pastime. When the very landscape was out to ruin your outfit, you knew you didn't belong.

"What's so funny, Zevran?" Leliana asked. She too was packing her things.

"Oh, I was just thinking that I am much too handsome for this country."

Morrigan gave an amused snort. "That says more about Ferelden than it does about your looks."

Before Zevran had time to formulate a retort, Alistair appeared in the doorway. "You guys ready? We're all gathering in the courtyard."

 

Alistair's summons turned out to be somewhat premature: Everyone was there except the one who had told them to get ready as early as they could. When they had waited for Elena for nearly half an hour, Zevran went to see what was holding her up. Arriving at her door he discovered that she was just about to leave, obviously stressed and looking for all the world like she had just woken up and then dressed in the dark.

Her hair bun was lopsided. Zevran had to hide a smile at the sight.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching as she gathered up her things. "Considering this place was full of walking corpses when I first saw it, I never imagined I would miss it," he said and stepped out of her way as she left the room.

"It's been ... a nice respite." Elena closed the door behind her with a small sigh.

Zevran glanced over his shoulder. There was no one around ... Maybe just one kiss, one last kiss to tide them over. Give her something to look forward to. He pushed her up against the wall, trapping her body against it with his own and pressing his lips to hers. She gave a small moan and wrapped her arms around him. He felt her arch against him and pushed back, pinning her as he moved to whisper something in her ear - and suddenly she stiffened, making a noise like an interrupted squeak.

Then came Morrigan's sing-song voice from behind him: "Called it!"

 _Blasted witch_. Zevran thumped his forehead against the wall and then composed himself. "Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to interrupt? Ah, I suppose manners weren't very important in the swamp."

He stepped back as he spoke, releasing Elena. She was blushing and said nothing, but the muscles in her jaw twitched ominously as she straightened her clothes. Morrigan, Zevran realised, had arrived around the corner with Alistair and Leliana in tow. Her smile oozed smugness. A set-up, then.

Leliana's eyes were wide and she had covered her mouth, presumably to stop herself from giggling. Alistair, on his part, was shaking his head and stuttering, "I ... uh ... damn."

Morrigan twiddled her fingers in the universal gesture for money. "I believe you owe me ten sovereigns, Alistair..?"

"Uh ... Morrigan, I think Elena probably..."

"Doesn't approve," Elena snapped. Then she stomped off towards the courtyard. Zevran shrugged at the others, and they all followed her.

Inwardly, he was shaking his head. The cat was out of the bag, which frankly was a bit of a relief ... but was Elena angry because Morrigan and Alistair had been making bets about her personal life, or because the affair was no longer secret? Maybe she was worried that their friends had the wrong idea about them. If so, his silence would hardly help. He assumed his usual care-free air.

"Why so shocked, Alistair? Surely, after you lost _our_ bet..."

"Yes but ... Elena? I just thought she had more ... class."

Zevran thumped his hand to his heart. "You wound me, ser!"

Elena didn't turn around, but her voice was sharp when she said: "I'm right here you know. I can hear what you're saying."

Alistair looked rightfully abashed, but Zevran simply couldn't help himself. He whispered theatrically, "...but seriously, _ten sovereigns_? You have so little faith in me?"

 

Elena closed her eyes as deft fingers combed through her hair. It was strange to have another person handle her hair like this; dressing it. Though Leliana had previously commented how nice her simple knot looked on her, she had been quick enough to comply when she asked her if she could do it the Orlesian fashion. Her touch was so gentle and soothing that Elena might have fallen asleep then and there, if the conversation hadn't kept her awake.

"I never really thought much about my hair. It was in the way when I was reading, so I'd wear it long just so I could tie it back. I guess it became habit."

"Well, it's lovely. Hmm. I can't do much without more pins ... but I'll do my best."

"I'm sure it'll be great. Besides, it's not like we're off to some fancy ball or anything. I think the only person in camp who might appreciate it is Wynne."

"Oh, I think there may be at least one other person who cares ... well, one elf, at any rate." Elena could hear the teasing smirk in Leliana's voice.

"Hey! I ... I really don't think Zev..."

Leliana chuckled. "You may be right. He has complimented me on pretty much every part of my body except my hair - and my hair is flawless, after all."

Elena nodded absent-mindedly. It was strange to talk openly about this, and Leliana seemed so relaxed. She wasn't sure why she had been so adamant Zevran keep their trysts secret in the first place, but on some level she must have assumed that the others would judge her. Yet here they were, carrying on as if nothing had happened. Her anger had abated over the course of the day, and now she mostly felt bewildered and somewhat embarrassed - if relieved. She purred happily as Leliana twisted another braid into place and pinned it.

"Anyway, I wasn't going to tease you about it," Leliana continued. "Well not much anyway. I believe he has a good heart, for all his ... uh, being what he is. And I'm guessing he is probably ... very skilled."

The way she phrased the last bit, Elena knew it was really a question, and that it was accompanied by the hint of a grin. Possibly waggling of eyebrows. Well, there wasn't much she could say, had she been at all willing to. "I really wouldn't know how skilled he is, Leliana. I have nothing to compare to," she answered wryly.

"Really? Nothing at all? Surely you must have at least ... I don't know, you must at least have kissed a boy before? Or a girl for that matter..."

Elena started shaking her head but Leliana tugged at her hair as a reminder to keep still. "Nope, not so much as a kiss. It's not like mages are encouraged to breed, but I didn't really need discouraging either. Seriously, I was an incredibly uninteresting person before I left the Circle. All I did was study. I barely even thought about what was underneath people's robes, whether they were boys or girls ... it just didn't seem important."

Leliana raised her eyebrows in honest surprise. "There really was no one at all that caught your fancy, until Zevran?"

"No..." A rather uncomfortable thought struck her. "But now that I think about it, I think there was a man who liked me ... but he was a templar! Oh ... Oh dear. I was such a fool!" She turned around and stared at Leliana, wide-eyed. "It's so obvious! Cullen was ... he probably thought I was flirting with him! I was just being nice because he was nice to me - he was the only templar that was! Leliana, I think he was in love with me!"

"You didn't realise this until just now? My, you really are exactly as innocent as you look." Laughing, Leliana patted her shoulder soothingly. "Calm down. He's likely forgotten all that by now. You weren't exactly familiar with him when we met him in the Tower."

Elena frowned, nodding slightly. She had completely forgotten that Leliana had in fact met Cullen, and now that she thought of his terror-struck rambling about his 'ill-advised infatuation', she felt incredibly sheepish. "I guess you're right."

 

"Oh, come on! Are they really...?"

Zevran squinted, following Alistair's gaze across the camp. "Yes. It appears that Leliana is braiding Elena's hair, and they are indeed giggling."

"Ugh." It was impossible to tell whether the interjection was aimed at the women, or at the mud-caked greaves Alistair was currently in the process of cleaning. Maybe it was the fact that they were clearly having a fun fireside chat while he was cleaning equipment that bothered him.

"Girls will be girls," Zevran said with a contented sigh, leaning back against the log Alistair was seated on. His equipment was already spotless - mostly because he had stayed clear of the mudhole Alistair had managed to mire himself in just outside Redcliffe - his daggers were honed, his poison supply full ... there was nothing to do but relax. And he felt unusually relaxed, now that he didn't have to lie about Elena anymore. Of course, it wasn't as though anyone had asked, but given how used he was to immediately bragging about every sexual conquest to anyone who would listen (and also anyone who wouldn't), staying quiet and sneaking about felt to him like lying by omission.

'"Yeah ... About that. The Warden being a girl and that."

"You just noticed?" Zevran asked unhelpfully, grinning. Alistair's awkward segues never ceased to amaze. Clearly he had something on his mind that he was uncomfortable expressing - which, of course, was when he was the most fun to tease.

"Very funny. I just wanted you to know, despite you trying to murder us and all, I think you're probably basically alright."

"I am touched. Truly."

"But I'm still watching you."

"Oh? What a pleasant surprise! Tell me, which angle is your favourite? I always thought I had a very striking profile, myself. But perhaps you are more of a rear view kind of man..?"

Alistair paused his work to give Zevran a withering look, which if it hadn't been for the mudstain on his nose and cheek would have been a near perfect copy of the ones Morrigan granted them. They were all rubbing off on each other, it seemed. Just not the kind of rubbing Zevran would have preferred. He almost giggled; he'd have to use that line sometime. Maybe on Wynne. Interrupting his wandering thoughts, Alistair said, "Just ... I don't want her to get hurt, alright?"

"Hmm." Zevran gave Alistair a searching look. As often as he behaved like a big puppy, there was a grown man beneath the mudstains, one far more serious than he usually let on. And that he cared greatly for Elena was no secret. "Tell me, have you ever harboured your own thoughts of Elena ... as a woman, shall we say?"

Zevran endeavoured to ask his question levelly, without a hint of jest or teasing, and Alistair seemed to pick up on it. He frowned thoughtfully.

"No. Yes. Well, when I first met her I thought she was just a kid. I mean, she was just a kid, right? Also she's a mage, and I was a templar, sort of ... But then she's also really sweet, and I can't deny she's beautiful."

His voice trailed off and Zevran let him be for a while before nudging him. "If you don't want to talk about it..."

Alistair scratched at his stubble with muddy fingers, smearing more of it on his face. Somehow it didn't detract from his looks, but only served to make him look more earnest. Zevran had to stifle a laugh. Motherless though this bastard was, there would never be a shortage of women willing to wipe dirt from his face with loving hands. "Uh. Nevermind. But no," Alistair was saying. "I don't think she is what I would want in a woman. She's ... she's become like a sister to me. A little sister. And I feel like I need to protect her." He cleared his throat, set his now mostly clean greaves aside and grinned at Zevran. "So there you have it. Big brother's watching you. Don't hurt her!"

Zevran chortled, hiding his surprise. He had thought it not unlikely that Alistair's interest in the Warden went well beyond friendship, but try as he might, he could find no signs of dishonesty or evasion now. "Oh! Well, if that's the case - your brotherly concern has moved me, and I have now cancelled all my plans to drag our dear Warden into a pit of misery."

"I think what the elf means to say," came Sten's voice from behind them, "is that he had no such plans to begin with."

Zevran sat up and looked over his shoulder. How the giant qunari had managed to sneak up on them, he would very much like to know. "Your mastery of human expression has truly progressed since we first met, Sten. I think you must have surpassed Alistair at this point - maybe even Greg!"

"Thank you," Sten said, even as Alistair exclaimed, "He-ey!"

 

"Look, Morrigan - Leliana did my hair!"

Morrigan looked up from what she was doing. Elena smiled, turning her head this way and that for Morrigan to see. "Indeed," she said simply and returned to her work. Numerous little bottles lay before her and she sorted them carefully, placing them into a padded box one by one.

Elena's shoulders slumped. Well, perhaps it had been too much to hope for. There was never any telling what might serve as an ice-breaker with Morrigan. Giving her Flemeth's grimoire had gotten her quite excited, and now and then when she was in a good mood she'd humour Elena's quest to learn more about her childhood, but just as often she would simply stonewall her. Elena obviously wasn't going to stop trying. Perhaps not tonight, though. "Okay then. Uhm. Goodnight!"

She started to walk away but the sound of Morrigan's voice stopped her.

"Are you very angry with me?"

"What? No?" She turned around. Morrigan was still picking at her bottles, very deliberately not looking up. "Why would I be?" Elena said in honest confusion. She was certain she'd been her usual self by midday, and surely Morrigan must have noticed.

"I spied out your secret and betrayed it to your friends. You have every right to be angry," Morrigan stated matter-of-factly, still not looking up.

"No. I mean yes, I was this morning, but I'm never angry for very long, and ... well, I think you did me a favour, really."

Morrigan finally tore her eyes from her bottles. The Warden wore a sheepish grin, very much at odds with her elegantly coiled and pleated hair. She couldn't help but smile slightly, and indicated for Elena to have a seat next to her fire. As was her habit, she had her own little camp, slightly apart from the others, where she could work in peace and no one noticed if she snuck off in the shape of an animal. "A favour?" she prompted as Elena sat down.

Elena picked up a stick and prodded at the fire. "It's ... well, it's nice not to have to sneak around. Keeping secrets is so much work."

"If you say so."

"Plus I don't think Zevran liked that I asked him to keep quiet about it. Sort of goes against his character."

Morrigan gave a short, but genuine, laugh. "You don't say!" She stowed away her box and joined Elena by the fire. "If I might ask, why _did_ you want to keep it a secret? You must have known that someone would find out, sooner or later."

"I don't know," Elena admitted, fiddling with her stick. "I suppose ... I just ... well no one seems to like him much and I guess I thought..." Her voice trailed off. The more she thought about it, the guiltier she felt. If she had been worried about what the others would think about her sleeping with Zevran, what did that say about what _she_ thought of _him_? He had never said a word about it after their first night, never once indicated that it hurt him ... but now she couldn't help but wonder.

Morrigan shrugged. "No one likes me much, and yet you do not sneak about, hiding our friendship."

"We're friends?!"

She groaned inwardly. The smile that lit Elena's face ... Why did she have to go and say that? Now she'd get all kinds of wrong ideas. Maybe want to braid her hair! She threw a log on the fire, ducking her head. "We-e-ell, we're not enemies..."

Elena grinned. "I'll take it."

"For what it's worth," Morrigan went on hurriedly, "I do not think they particularly _dislike_ Zevran, though they were suspicious of him to begin with. And rightly so! But, 'tis not as though he is the only person here with a ... colourful past. He may be vain, oversexed and insufferably glib, but he is not 'evil', as Alistair or Leliana would see it. And I for one do not see why anyone should begrudge you what comforts you may find. Physical or ... otherwise." She raised an eyebrow, studying Elena out of the corner of her eye. She was slightly disappointed at the lack of reaction; perhaps there was a blush, but the firelight made it impossible to tell. She shrugged again. "'Tis a dangerous road we walk, and your life may end much sooner than it should. May as well live it now, while you have the chance."

Long moments passed as Elena considered this. She still felt a bit of a fool about the whole thing, but Morrigan's words eased her mind. Finally she said, "Thank you, Morrigan. You're a good friend."

Morrigan searched her face for signs of some sort of joke or mockery. There was none. Elena simply smiled. Then she stood.

"Well! It's late, and I need to ask Leliana to take my hair down before bed. I'll see you tomorrow. G'night!"

"Good-" But Elena had already turned away and started walking. Morrigan watched her leave, faintly bemused. "-night."

 

"So ... Care to join me in my tent?"

Zevran raised his eyebrows. They were in the midst of camp, the others readying themselves for sleep all around them. Elena was smiling shyly at him as she braided her hair and tied it off with a cord. And she was asking him to join her in her tent. Just like that.

He grinned and said, "Shall I play hard to get? Let me think..."


	9. Matters of heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Leliana and Alistair have another chat, Zevran leaves Elena breathless, and Leliana slips up.

Elena threw aside the tent flap and groaned as the sun hit her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and massaged them with the balls of her hands. Although she enjoyed beautiful weather as much as the next Fereldan, she really preferred it in small doses. The light hurt her eyes. Some days were worse than others, but mornings were always bad, and the last few days every morning had greeted her with brilliant sunshine.

She reached behind her, blindly waving her hand in what she thought was the direction of her pack to retrieve her hood. Instead she grabbed Zevran's foot, and he twitched and mumbled something in Antivan before turning over and burrowing his face in a blanket. Elena shook her head with a small grin. She found her hood and pulled it low over her eyes as she left the tent.

"Good morning," Wynne said. She was already packing her things. The others were all in various stages of waking up - well, except for Shale, who obviously never slept. The golem had been somewhat huffy about the fact that they still insisted on posting another guard rather than let it watch over the camp alone. Elena wouldn't have minded, but then she was the trusting sort. The others seemed to find the sarcastic, blood-thirsty living statue somewhat intimidating, for some reason. She had shrugged her shoulders and let them have their way. As long as they didn't expect _her_ to stay up, she was happy.

"Morning Wynne." Elena stretched, grimacing as she flexed her shoulders. There was a painful kink in her back. "Ugh. Think I slept in a bad position."

Wynne raised an eyebrow at her, pursing her lips ever so slightly. "Oh, but you did sleep after all?"

She rolled her eyes. Wynne had already expressed her disapproval of her involvement with Zevran in no uncertain terms, and she supposed that was fine. She wanted Wynne to speak her mind, but she could do without the constant little barbs. "Just because he sleeps in my tent doesn't mean we're always..." She waved her hands in the air in an indistinct gesture. "...uh, you know. _At it_. It's just nice to be warm."

The older woman's expression softened somewhat. "I'm sure it is, at that. The sun may be shining, but nights are getting colder."

"We've really lucked out on the weather, haven't we." Elena looked toward the mountains, looming large on the horizon. "Autumn's approaching fast though. I expect it'll be cold in the mountains." That had, in fact, been her primary motivator for going to Orzammar sooner rather than later. Approaching the dwarven city in the winter seemed, if not a doomed prospect, then at least far more trouble than they had time for.

"Yes. I'm not looking forward to it. Don't get me wrong! There is nowhere else I'd rather be than here on this quest with you, but I have to admit - my bones are reminding me that their rightful place is in front of a hearth."

 

It had been an uneventful day, during which Alistair had found himself almost wishing for an ambush. Travelling in armor felt pointlessly exhausting when no one actually attacked you. Come late afternoon, they reached the foothills of the Frostback Mountains and set up camp in the shelter of a crag next to a small stream. It was a nicer spot to camp in than they'd had in days - no mud as far as the eye could see.

Everyone seemed to be in a good mood. The stream gave them an opportunity to wash up properly, and they made a wonderful meal out of a small deer Leliana had felled earlier in the day. As the evening wore on Zevran brought out a deck of playing cards. Everyone joined in except Shale and Leliana, the latter smirking at their foolishness as Zevran cheated everyone out of their bets.

As dusk approached, the group started retiring to their tents. Alistair remained by the fire, having taken first watch. Leliana and Zevran both lingered.

"Good of you to give everything back," Alistair muttered wryly and shot Zevran a glance, turning his mother's medallion over and over in his hands. He let his thumb follow the faint cracks where Eamon had glued it back together. Somehow, it was doubly precious for them.

"Never bet anything you are not prepared to lose," Zevran admonished him gently. "You are lucky I'm not a cruel man, Alistair."

"Hah," Leliana snorted. "Elena would never have let you keep that amulet. Not after all the trouble she went through to find it and bring it to Alistair."

"True," the elf agreed. "Now that you mention it, I wish I had hidden it. She could have interrogated me for its whereabouts." He grinned as the other two made faces at him. Then he stood up. "Speaking of our dear Warden - there she is."

Elena was returning from the stream, and Zevran went to join her. As they retreated into her tent, Zevran leaned down slightly, whispering something in Elena's ear that made her smile.

"She seems to like him," Leliana commented. There was a murmur of voices from the Warden's tent, interrupted now and then by her high-pitched giggle or Zevran's huskier chuckle.

Alistair grunted, "I should hope so, the way they ... uh. Anyway. Don't think I'll ever get why."

"So you've said," the bard chuckled. "I think you're just annoyed that you never worked up the courage to talk to that tavern girl. Bella? Yes, Bella."

"Pfft! Teeth like a horse, she had."

"No, that was a different girl. Don't be silly, you _know_ the one I'm talking about."

"If I did, I would never admit it," Alistair sniffed.

At this point, Elena's tent had grown markedly quiet. "They think they're so subtle, those two," Leliana remarked sardonically.

Alistair glanced towards the tent and cleared his throat. "Well ... at least they're quiet? I mean, imagine the alternative."

"To be honest, I try not to."

He chortled. "Wise move. I did, and now I can't get Zevran's voice out of my head. For some reason he's always going on about bosoms. Elena doesn't even have a bosom!"

Leliana prodded him teasingly. "Paid a lot of attention to her chest, have you?"

Alistair shook his head. At this point, he had gotten used to the prying, and felt a vague sense of resignation to the fact that it was nigh impossible to keep secrets when one travelled like this. If Leliana was curious about his feelings with regards to Elena, she had but to ask. "Zev asked me the same thing. I mean, I like her, but he seemed to think I, you know, _like her_ like her."

"Would that be so unthinkable? She is kind - and very pretty. You two would make a good match," Leliana said lightly.

He almost laughed. "Oh, yes. The chantry-raised royal bastard and the circle mage, both Grey Wardens, joined in their quest to defeat the darkspawn, bound by a love to surpass the ages! At least until the taint gets the better of them. At which point they go skipping down the Deep Roads, hand in hand. I can see you're just aching to tell that story." Alistair shook his head, grinning. "Nah. She's not for me. I love her, but not that way."

The bard, having giggled briefly at Alistair's mockery of a romantic tale, tilted her head. "Why?"

"You're asking _why_ I don't love her as a woman? I might as well ask you why you don't love me as a man." He paused, blinking. "Uh. You don't, right? Because if you do this just got even more awkward than my conversations with women normally go. In fact we would have reached peak awkwardness. There would be no turning back. Terrible things would happen. I would probably discover I'd somehow accidentally put my pants on my head without noticing."

She patted his shoulder comfortingly, interrupting his babbling. "Don't worry, Alistair. I promise, you'd be the first to know."

He grinned, wiping his forehead in mock relief. "Right. Wait, are you talking about love, or pants?"

Leliana shook her head at him. "Oh, no. You backed yourself into that corner, you find your way out."

"Sometimes you're almost as mean as Morrigan! Anyway ... As for Elena, I don't know. I guess ... Do you remember the Circle Tower? What she was like?" He waited for her nod before he continued. "A lot of the time I don't understand her at all. When she's discussing politics or theory of magic with Wynne she sounds like a library. Then she giggles like a little girl. She faces down enemies neither of us could even have imagined a year ago, then shrugs the ashes off her shoulders and asks if anyone has any food."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Leliana muttered.

Alistair ignored her, continuing quietly, his face soft. He never took his eyes from the medallion in his hands. "But I remember the Tower, and her tears. All those people... I guess she must have known many of them, before they turned into abominations. I held her afterwards, when she cried. She was so fragile then. It was like ... cradling a bird. Since then, I don't know - it's like she's put all that aside. Like she's ... hardened. When we got to Redcliffe, she was all business, like having to fight off an army of walking corpses is all in a day's work. But I remember. And I think that little bird is still in there, but she's caged it."

"She's like a sister to you."

"Yes. That's what I told Zevran. I also told him I'm watching him. I won't let anything hurt her, if I can help it." A faint moan reached them from the direction of Elena's tent, and Alistair rolled his eyes. It certainly didn't sound like anyone was hurt.

Leliana rose. "Well! I think it's about time I turned in. Wake me up when it's my watch."

 

Elena closed her eyes, trying desperately to stay the moans that threatened to erupt from her throat at any moment. She was on her side, Zevran behind her and sliding slowly inside. He pulled her leg up and over his own, exposing her to his roaming hand. His other arm was underneath her, hugging her to him.

"Shush now," he whispered. "You don't want to wake everyone, do you? You don't want them to know what a whore you really are."

He ran his fingers over the tender skin of her inner thigh, where small bruises from some night before this were fading to yellow. She moaned softly despite herself, wishing desperately for more, for him to touch her most sensitive spot and bring her to climax. He had been teasing her for days, refusing to give her release, and he seemed bent on continuing that game tonight. She didn't know if she could take it, or if frustration would force a scream from her. Now his hand ran over her hip and waist without so much as touching her sex, instead fluttering past her nipples and caressing her throat. She panted, closing her eyes.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "Don't worry, pet. I'll make sure you don't scream..." His hand was on her face, gently pressed over her mouth, as so many times before. She whimpered and he shushed her again ... and pinched her nose shut. She tensed up, trembling. He was still moving inside her, sliding lazily in and out. "Just relax..." he breathed.

She tried. Anything he asked, anything at all, she would try her very best. Even relaxing while he choked her. He wouldn't hurt her, she knew he wouldn't - surely he'd let go in a moment. But moment upon moment passed, pressure building in her chest, and he didn't let go.

She twitched nervously, trying to pull her head to the side and finding that his hand was now clamped quite firmly over her mouth and nose. The more she moved, the harder he gripped her. And with every wave of illusory panic, an accompanying wave of heat passed through her. She felt herself throb, clenching around him as her body tensed and strained to breathe.

Then he gave her air. She gasped for it, sucking it in in silence, shuddering as he stroked her cheek and called her his good girl, his dutiful little whore. Then he took it away again.

The second time she lasted longer. He was still thrusting steadily, slightly faster now, slightly deeper. She concentrated on the feeling of his cock inside her, how it stretched and filled her. It was easier to ignore the pressure and the rising panic this time, but eventually it came, and she started struggling weakly. He held on to her long enough to prove he could, and then let her breathe. She panted, eyes rolled back, sweat cooling on her forehead and her body moving limply to his thrusts.

"Just once more," he promised in a hoarse whisper. "Just once more and I'll let you go. Be a good whore for me. Take a deep breath."

She obeyed unthinkingly. This time he used his other hand to block her nose and mouth, leaving the free one to grip her thigh. When her panic came, his thrusts became hard, relentless. The need to breathe burned in her chest. She flailed an arm weakly, arching back against him as she struggled, merely succeeding in giving him a more direct angle. He was moving quickly now, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh. Pleasure coursed through her body with every thrust, amplified by her fear. Just as she could feel a wave of blackness approaching and became convinced she could take no more, he moaned quietly in her ear and spent within her, easing his grip on her mouth and letting her breathe again.

A little while later, when they both had caught their breath, he asked, "Were you worried I'd take it too far?"

"No." She smiled at him in the darkness. "I was scared, but with you, I'm never worried."

 

Zevran woke to Elena squirming and whimpering in his arms. Another nightmare, he assumed. He caressed her gently, pulling sticky hair off her forehead and stroking her back soothingly. When she had calmed down, he planted a kiss on her forehead and quietly left the tent. He was hot and thirsty and wanted some air.

Dawn was approaching, but there was no true light yet. The world consisted of planes of grey and black. Other than the murmur of running water, it was very quiet.

By this time it would be Leliana's watch. Heading for the stream, Zevran spotted her sitting on the ancient, crumbling stone bridge that crossed it. He decided to join her, after having a drink of water and splashing his face. She had been unusually reticent during the last few days, less prone to song or laughter. Though they were hardly best friends, they did have a lot in common, and if something was bothering her there was always a chance he could help.

Leliana didn't look up at his approach. She appeared preoccupied, tossing pebbles into the water beneath her. Her shoulders were tense.

"Looks to be a fine morning," Zevran said as he swung his legs over the edge of the bridge, sitting down next to her. It was a correct if utterly mundane observation. The skies were clear, the air still. Travel would be swift today, unless the road deteriorated or they were attacked.

She gave him a brief glance but remained quiet.

He cleared his throat. "Is something wrong? Have I done something to offend you?" He couldn't think of what that would have been, but one never knew, and it might get her talking.

"No," she said curtly. She was still tossing pebbles, helping gravity along with rather more force than necessary. "It's no one's fault but mine."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"With you? You make fun of my vision at every opportunity, and you think I would talk to you about ... about matters of the heart?"

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows slightly. She made a face, realising she had given far more away than she had meant to. Wisely, Zevran remained silent.

Leliana sighed. When she next spoke, it was in a low voice, as though to herself. "I've slipped. Two years at the chantry and it's like I've forgotten all about being a bard."

"You seem quite deadly to me."

She ignored him. "I really thought that I had found something. Someone. And then it turned out I had it all wrong, and I feel like such a fool. And that's fine. It's happened before, it will probably happen again. But ... it's not ... it's not supposed to be this painful." Her voice broke. Zevran realised that she was fighting tears. He sat very still, considering his options. He was quite convinced that if he tried to comfort her, she would rebuke him and probably storm off. If he made a joke, she would probably want to stab him, but would refrain - and then storm off. Being quiet seemed the only real option if he didn't want to make things worse.

"And you know the worst part, the worst part is - I don't think you even love her."

"A- Er- Um."

Zevran closed his eyes briefly. What had gotten into him lately? How had he not seen this? Stupid. _Stupid!_

When he looked at her again, Leliana was wiping her eyes furiously. "I am trying to be happy for her. Eventually I will be. Probably. All I want is for her to be happy," she said. It sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

He sighed, shaking his head slightly. _What a ridiculous mess_. He spoke softly, "You know how I work, Leliana. She sought intimacy and I have given it to her, as I would to you or pretty much any other beautiful woman who requested my skills. I warm her bed. I stake no claims. Should you wish to pursue her romantically, I will not stand in your way."

Leliana looked at him. Seconds passed. He thought perhaps she would rebuke him for coming on to her at this point, even though that's not at all how he had meant it. Instead, she smiled in a hopeless sort of way. "...you are _such_ an _idiot_ , Zevran."

She got up and left, leaving him on the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter what I do, Leliana seems determined to fall in love with my Wardens. I try to treat her like a friend and this apparently constitutes flirting. -_-
> 
> This was one smut scene I really, really enjoyed writing for some reason. Yay breath play!


	10. Dangerous territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Zevran and Leliana reach an understanding, dangerous territory is entered, and Zevran unexpectedly has an opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff ahoy!

Leliana made no attempt at hiding her approach and Zevran glanced over his shoulder, greeting her with a nod. "Are they still..?"

"Yup. May I join you?"

"Certainly."

The elf was sitting on a rocky outcrop which jutted out of the forest east of the camp. It afforded a wonderful view of the way they had come, a shallow bowl of a valley sitting before them with a small lake glinting amidst the trees. The weather had soured over the last couple of days, forcing them to trudge up the mountain in pouring rain, but it had finally let up. Now the sun was low on the horizon, torn rags of cloud glowing peach and golden against a turquoise sky. Long shadows streaked the valley. "This is beautiful," Leliana sighed as she sat down.

"Yes, it is," Zevran agreed. His eyes were on the sunset, but she wasn't sure he was actually watching it.

Angry voices drifted through the trees; Alistair and Elena were fighting. It had started as a spat over nothing, and expanded into a full-blown row about ... still nothing. _Just as if they were siblings_ , Leliana reflected. She made a face. "If Ferelden knew its fate rests in the hands of a couple of over-grown kids who can't handle walking on an empty stomach, I think everyone would leave for the Free Marches. Let's never, ever skip breakfast again. I don't care if it's pouring buckets and the fire's gone out, breakfast has to happen."

Zevran chuckled. "Agreed."

They sat in silence for a while. Leliana did her best not to squirm uncomfortably. She supposed she should have realised Zevran going off to look at the view meant he wasn't in the mood for his usual banter, but she hadn't expected him to be quite this taciturn. Him barely saying a word unsettled her. "Look, I... About ... that thing we talked about the other day..." she said haltingly.

He turned to look at her. "Yes?" His expression was neutral, pleasant. Leliana recognised a mask when she saw one.

"I ... I wanted to say thank you, and that I'm sorry."

Zevran blinked, his carefully composed facade faltering for a moment. "I must admit, I'm not entirely certain what this is about."

"I wanted to thank you, because you tried to look out for me. I realise that now. I was angry and snapped at you when you were just trying to be friendly. It was unfair of me, and I'm sorry."

"...oh." He smiled, not his customary cocky smirk but a genuine, friendly smile. "Don't worry about it. I obviously ... I mean, you were having a private moment, and I intruded." He shrugged. "Your reaction was perfectly understandable. When one feels cornered, one lashes out, yes?"

Leliana nodded. He was looking at the scenery again. The sun was about to dip below the horizon, blazing copper. "Uh..." She twisted her hands in her lap. "You won't tell her, right? I mean, assuming you haven't already..."

He chuckled gently. "Leliana, I may be an idiot, but I am not entirely witless. Telling her would only serve to cause the both of you pain, and I don't want that - also, this is not my secret to tell."

"Thank you." She sighed. His words both relieved and pained her. On some level, she had hoped he would give her some indication that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that Elena felt something for her beyond friendship. But as much as she had hoped, she had known it was in vain. She was a trained bard, she _knew_ how to read people. If she hadn't been so blinded by her own infatuation, she would have understood long ago that Elena's kindness and friendly affection were exactly what they seemed, and nothing more. Seeing her with Zevran had jolted her, torn the veil from her eyes. A rude awakening, but hardly Zevran's fault.

And Elena couldn't know how she felt about her. If she was told, she would feel guilty about causing Leliana pain by being unable to return her love. Things would get awkward between them and ruin the beautiful friendship they had. Leliana knew it, and Zevran as well; she hadn't needed to tell him.

For a long time, she had refused to admit how similar they were, but now it suddenly started to feel like a good thing. She looked at his impassive face, studied his tattoos, the way his amber eyes caught the last rays of sunlight. She could definitely understand what Elena saw in him - but she wondered if the Warden could see his pain. In fact, Leliana wondered if he saw it himself, or just pretended it wasn't there. It was their one, big difference: He had been taught to distance himself from emotions, whereas she had learned to roll with the punches and land on her feet.

"Are you ... Are you alright?" she ventured.

"Hmm? Oh, yes - yes. I'm fine." He paused, looking at her, eyebrows raised slightly in a look of pleasant surprise. "Thank you for asking. I ... This journey is taking me to very strange places. I came to Ferelden to kill a pair of Grey Wardens, or die at their hands. Instead I find myself in this ... strange company of orphans. I find myself caring for people in a way I haven't since ... Nevermind. My point is, I am sorry to have played a part in something that hurt you. I think of you as a friend. And I should like you to think of me as one. Is that ... offensive to you?"

"Not at all!" She giggled in surprise. "Does this mean you'll stop making lecherous comments about my 'assets'?"

He chortled and leaned back on his elbows, suddenly every bit his usual self. "Never. I am incorrigible, I'm afraid. But I promise, next time my eyes linger on your assets, they will do so in a _friendly_ fashion."

 

"Elena..."

"He's such an idiot sometimes."

Elena was pouting, her brow creased and that delicate chin of hers jutting forward in a sulky grimace. Zevran found it adorable - it was hard not to - but also very annoying, at the moment. He straddled her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. "Yes, he is, but I'm trying to be serious here. Would you stop being angry at Alistair and listen to me?"

She smiled impishly. "Or you'll what?"

He gave her a stern look and said gravely, "Or I'll bring out the most feared weapon in my arsenal of torture. An art that has been practised and perfected by Antivan assassins for many generations." Leaning down until his nose almost touched hers, he narrowed his eyes and hissed, " _Tickling_."

"Nooo!" she squealed, squirming beneath him as he dug his fingers threateningly into her ribs.

"Well? Are you going to be serious, then? Are you?" He tickled her, grinning at her shrieks of laughter. She struggled helplessly, begging him to stop, and he soon did. He got off her, flopping down next to her as she caught her breath. "There we go. Smiling again," he said. Even he could hear the fondness in his voice.

She blew him a raspberry and tried to poke him in the ribs, but he grabbed her wrist and raised a challenging eyebrow. Blushing, she pulled back her hand. "So ... what did you want to talk about?"

He looked at her and hesitated. Strands of hair had come undone from her knot and tumbled over her flushed face. Her eyes were huge and dark in the dimness of the tent, and there was a smile on her slightly parted lips. He had always thought of her face as gentle, but something had changed in it since Redcliffe. She seemed less serious these days, less preoccupied with the gravity and danger of their mission. Her smiles came easier and they always reached her eyes. And when she looked at him when it was just the two of them, there was an openness to her expression that touched him. Something utterly trusting. He knew there was a lot of sadness in her, a darkness that she kept bottled up. But in these moments, he saw her as the untroubled child she might have been. If things had been different.

Zevran swallowed the lump in his throat. He had been thinking a lot, lately, and tonight he had wanted to talk to her of the future, of what she was planning on doing after they had defeated the Blight. If they defeated it. But now, with her, like this... he found that he simply couldn't. There was no room here for complicated questions. He smiled softly. "Nothing important."

He cupped her neck, closing his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her.

Oh, he was entering dangerous territory, he knew that. But danger had always been part of his life, and this was worth it. For now.

 

Snow was falling when they finally reached the gates of Orzammar. Elena didn't mind; it was never cold in her tent. And Wynne had finally stopped frowning.

 

"I don't like this place."

"Why? I would've thought you'd love Orzammar. It's a big, bustling city, there's plenty of precious metal, and everyone's shorter than you!" Leliana giggled at the look Zevran shot her.

"I distinctly recall leaving Alistair on the surface. Are you channeling him, by any chance?" he muttered and took a sip of the strange dwarven brew that apparently passed for a fine beverage in these parts.

Elena sniffed gingerly at her own drink, then glanced around the tavern. It had grown markedly quiet when they had entered, but both drinking and conversation seemed to have picked up again. Word got around quickly in Orzammar, and now they'd been here a couple of days, no one seemed very surprised to see them. "I'm curious though, Zev. Why don't you like it here?"

He rubbed his jaw, considering the question and the wisdom of answering it in such an open place as this. Especially considering it was full of upper-caste dwarves. Still, between the general din of conversation and the red beard singing drunkenly in a nearby corner, it seemed unlikely anyone would be able to overhear, even if they tried. "It's the oppression," he admitted. "While you've been cozying up to Harrowmont, I put my ear to the ground. These dwarves are so mired in tradition they've lost their ... uh, humanity?"

"The painted elf is being nonsensical," Shale commented. It was standing by their table, watching them drink, apparently for lack of anything else to do at the moment. "If dwarves were human, they wouldn't be dwarves. What dwarves might lose would possibly be their dwarfishness, but it seems tradition is in fact a very dwarfish trait."

"Yes, alright, bad choice of words. What I mean is they seem to lack compassion. Look, humans put elves in alienages. They treat us like dogs, trapping us in kennels. That's oppression, but it's easy to understand how it happens. We look different from each other. And there's a lot of bad history between us. But the casteless? They are still _dwarves_. And yet they are treated like they are less than animals. Like they are nothing at all. By their own kin!"

Elena and Leliana were both watching him with wide eyes.

"Zevran, are you..." Elena began.

"...are you having a _political opinion_?!" Leliana finished.

"Huh," he said, slightly surprised at himself now that he thought about it. "It appears that I am. I know you don't like prince Bhelen's methods, Elena, but Harrowmont is a backslider. I think you should reconsider who-"

A loud crash interrupted him. It turned out to be the previously singing dwarf falling over onto someone's dinner, and was followed by a lot of angry shouting. Zevran sighed.

"I don't like this place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought Zev and Leliana should be best friends. Imagine the things they'd get up to!


	11. Into the deeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Elena makes a tactical decision which, perhaps, cuts too deep.

"Why. _Why_ are you sending me away?" Zevran was gritting his teeth, and his voice came out in a strained hiss.

Elena sighed. "I'm not sending you anywhere, least of all away. You just ... can't come on this one journey."

He paced. The room - a guest room in Lord Harrowmont's estate, lavishly furnished but not exactly expansive - didn't really allow for it, but he did his best. "You're taking the golem! And the _dwarf!_ You're, what, you're hoping the darkspawn will faint from the alcohol fumes?!"

"Zevran! What's gotten into you?! _Of course_ I'm taking Oghren, it's his _wife_ we're chasing. And Shale ... I couldn't leave Shale behind and deny it a chance to find out where it came from. Besides, I need someone with good defensive skills, and I can't take Alistair. Plus, Shale doesn't eat or sleep. We can't carry enough rations for everyone." She sat on the bed, watching him pace. When he didn't reply, she said, "I need you to go to the surface first thing tomorrow morning when I've left, and tell the others of the plan."

He stopped and turned to look at her. He searched her face, a beseeching expression on his own. "I don't understand why you won't let me come with you. And why you won't tell them yourself!" There was something broken in his voice, in his eyes. Almost, she softened. She had never seen him like this and wished she knew what she could say or do to make things better.

She composed herself. Her mind was made up. "I have a bad feeling about this mission, Zev. I'm going into the Deep Roads. Where Grey Wardens go to die. I think it might-" She interrupted herself, looked away for a moment. "I need you with Alistair. If we aren't back in a month, he must see if Harrowmont will help us anyway. Or Bhelen, if he's taken over at that point. Otherwise, go to the Brecilian forest and enlist the elves. I need you to watch Alistair's back, because if I fail, he is the only one who can end the Blight before it consumes Ferelden. And you know as well as I do that if I go up there tomorrow, he won't let me go into the Deep Roads without him." Her nails dug painfully into her palms. Every word she spoke was true. Why did she feel as though she was lying? "Please, Zevran ... do this for me."

Zevran slumped onto the bed, sitting just a little bit further away from her than he usually would. He looked at his hands, his voice carrying the taint of bitterness when he finally acquiesced: "Alright. As you wish. I am sworn..." He interrupted himself, raked both hands over his head and then straightened. When he spoke again, his voice was neutral, almost distant. "As you wish. But Leliana goes with you, yes? You need someone with a bit of cunning."

Elena nodded. There was nothing left to say, nothing that could be said out loud. This had been much harder than it should have been, than it had any right to be. Zevran...

She _wanted_ to bring him, like she wanted to bring a clear autumn morning, the smell of books, the feel of silk against her skin. She wanted to bring him because he made her feel happy. More than anything, she wanted him with her. How could she tell him that, and in the next breath say that she was afraid that this mission was the end, that anything brought into the Deep Roads may come back tainted, if at all? She _couldn't_ bring him because the only thought that made this journey at all bearable was that he would be on the surface, under the sky, where he belonged.

It jarred her that she felt so strongly about this. Perhaps Wynne had been right. Perhaps he was clouding her judgment. Perhaps...

Their hands found each other, their fingers intertwined.

"You had better come back," he said hoarsely and moved over to push her onto her back. He nipped at her lips. "You'll come back, or I will come find you after we've dealt with the archdemon, and then I'll give you such a spanking you won't be able to sit for days."

She giggled, blinking away tears, hoping he didn't have time to see them. He kissed her hungrily, crushing her into the bed with his body.

"Zev, please," she said breathlessly, "Please. Take me. Make me yours."

Clothes tore under impatient fingers, and he was inside her before they were undressed. When he had spent once and she lay limply beneath him, rosy-cheeked and panting, he slapped her into alertness, stripped her and took her again. He made her scream. He took her to the brink, then sank tooth and nail into her flesh until she pleaded for mercy. He pushed her over the edge, then pushed himself inside her to feel her spasm around him.

She struggled, and then clung to him; begged him to stop, then begged for more. He made love to her like he wanted to consume her entire being, and she gave herself to him with equal abandon. There was no method, no finesse to this union, only bodies pushing against each other like tides, enveloping, withdrawing, inviting, invading.

Later, he sat on the bed with her straddling his lap, and he helped her ride him, lifting her small frame with ease. Their lips were locked in a never-ending kiss, the tips of their tongues dancing. They were gentler now, drained by their throes of passion. He massaged her until she came around him, and when she started trembling with fatigue, he turned them around, laying her down on her back and continuing their easy, rocking motion until he reached one final climax.

She fell asleep in his arms soon thereafter; the sound, dreamless sleep of one both exhausted and safe. No more words had been spoken.

 

Outside the tunnel leading to the Deep Roads, Zevran took Leliana aside. He had spent the night closing every gate and shutter inside him as Elena snored gently against his chest, and now his face was blank, his voice neutral. "Bring her back safely," he said simply.

Leliana looked at him for a long moment before answering. "I will, Zevran. I promise."

He turned away from them and walked back to the surface.

Looking up from her conversation with Oghren, Elena watched his retreating back and absent-mindedly brought her hand to her shoulder, where somewhere underneath her robes, Zevran's teeth had left a perfect ring of marks.

 

" _You let her go without us?!_ "

Zevran should have expected the punch. He had no excuse at all - the man was right in front of him! - and yet he didn't realise it was coming until Alistair's fist had connected squarely with his jaw. Light exploded in front of his eyes and there was a loud ringing noise in his ear, which lingered as he stumbled backwards. He quickly regained his balance and squared up, relieved to be properly furious and this time actually having an appropriate target.

"I did not just _let_ her go," he hissed and advanced on Alistair. He wasn't going to win this fight; Alistair was bigger and saw him coming. But it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

Or, as it turned out, he wasn't going to win the fight because Wynne wouldn't allow it to start. She stepped between them. "Alistair! Zevran! Stop acting like children and _calm down!_ " she snapped in her most imperious voice.

There was something about being stared down by a woman old enough to be your grandmother that made Zevran deflate somewhat. He sat down heavily on the fallen tree that defined one edge of the camp. Alistair sulked behind Wynne and turned his back on them.

"Good," Wynne said, her voice still stern. "The Warden made a decision. We may not like it or agree with it, but it was hers and it is done."

Sten's frown was deeper than usual. "I do not like this. It was ill advised of her to take such a small force. Both Shale and this dwarf are untried allies," he stated.

"Yes! That! Exactly that!" Alistair exclaimed. He was pacing the camp, gesticulating wildly as he ranted. "She just ... runs off ... with some random ... into the Deep Roads! _The Deep Roads!_ That's where Grey Wardens go to _die!_ "

Zevran looked up sharply when he heard the echo of Elena's words from the night before. Gorge rose in his throat. He frowned and swallowed, and leaned his elbows on his knees, hanging his head so that he didn't have to look at the others. He rubbed his jaw. Let them believe he was woozy from the punch while he stowed away his feelings - again. On some level, he knew Elena had made a sound tactical decision. The fact that thinking about her lost in the dark twisted his insides into a painful knot didn't change that. The fact that she hadn't wanted him to come with her, ordered him to stay behind ... No. These emotions were nothing but a liability. _I've slipped_ , he thought, remembering Leliana's words on the bridge.

 _Careless_.  _Stupid_. It was time he remembered who he was. The Grey Warden had accepted the oath of an assassin. Not a lover.

Alistair was still ranting. "She shouldn't have gone like that, she's practically alone! She should've taken me, at least! Why would she leave me behind?" His voice broke on the last word and he stopped, panting.

Morrigan snorted, crossing her arms. "You are behaving like a dog abandoned by its master. In case you did not notice, all of us here were left behind. Even her elven bedwarmer - and _he_ is not whining about it." Her voice carried a note of disdain, as it was wont when she spoke to Alistair, but there was a sad cast to her eyes.

"Zevran can't sense darkspawn."

"But Elena can," Wynne reminded him. "And she took Leliana with her, let's not forget that."

"Yes," Zevran said. He judged himself reasonably composed and stood up, drawing in a deep breath. "Leliana's with her, and so is Shale and that dwarf. Between them, I think they have what it takes to make it through this intact."

It sounded fairly convincing. He just wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You got me, the fluff in the previous chapter was a set-up. I'm a sucker for angst. I guess this was inevitable.
> 
> I have no idea how long the Deep Roads mission would reasonably have taken. If you think a month is too short, feel free to substitute a different period.


	12. On the surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Zevran has a weird day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It strikes me I have no idea how they measure time in Thedas. Do they have weeks? I can't remember any references to such things. But, it also strikes me that it doesn't matter. I recall the foreword to Asimov & Silverberg's novel Nightfall, where they point out that they COULD invent a whole bunch of new words for various things, but when it's not actually pertinent to the story, why bother?

Their breath made white plumes in the air, and steam rose from their bodies toward the treetops as they removed their armour. It had been a tough session. Alistair had fought with unusual discipline and Zevran had only just barely kept up. It was easier when Sten joined and they all took turns, but today the qunari had decided to take the dog for a walk instead.

"Hey, Zev..."

"Yes?" Zevran was grinning even as he panted. Once he had realised his melee skills were actually showing improvement, he came to truly appreciate their training together. Unfair fights would ever be his forte, but on this quest he didn't often have the luxury of striking from stealth, and Alistair definitely had a thing or two to teach him. In return, he taught the ex-templar certain moves so dirty, chantry professionals would blush to even consider them.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry." Alistair's voice was a bit muffled as he was peeling off his sweaty jerkin. Zevran watched the play of muscles on his back appreciatively, but looked away as soon as Alistair's eyes were on him. No point in making him uncomfortable, really. Men were often so incredibly sensitive about these things, and Fereldans seemed especially uptight.

"Oh, don't worry about it, I know I fumbled that attack. Insult well deserved," he responded lightly, changing quickly into a dry shirt.

Alistair shook his head. "No, not that. I mean before. When I, uh, when I hit you. In the face."

"Alistair my friend, that was two weeks ago. Do I seem the sort to carry a grudge?"

"I dunno - you did carry a bruise for a while. Look, the point is, I really shouldn't have hit you and I'm sorry."

"Here, catch." Zevran threw Alistair a waterskin, having had his fill already. "Water under the bridge, as they say - yes? There was a lot of tension that day. I happened to be in the way of yours, that's all."

"Right. Okay. Good."

Having both changed into dry clothes, they sat down by the fire. Zevran fed it a couple of branches and warmed his aching hands over the flames. The other man did the same, staring quietly into the fire. Practise had been fun, and Zevran had looked forward to talking afterwards, perhaps getting drunk and making up some outrageous stories about Antiva. Camp life had become a bit dull, as of late.

A week after Elena left, Alistair had marched Wynne up to the gates and demanded they be let in lest the old woman froze to death, and somehow he'd procured lodgings for himself as well. While Zevran didn't begrudge them a warm bed - the mage had really started to look very drawn - the camp had been rather empty since then. Alistair would come out for combat practise with himself and Sten most days, and Wynne visited from time to time. But at night his only company was Morrigan, Sten and the dog. And the dog was the most sociable of the three.

The post-practise fireside chats with Alistair were thus a welcome distraction. Today however, he seemed very muted. Zevran sighed. The man had veered between useless anger and equally useless sulking for days after Elena's departure, and he still got into these moods now and then. For his own part, he'd gotten his emotions under control quickly enough - it was a skill he had practised his entire life, after all. Usually when Alistair got like this, he would try to coax him out of it with some light-hearted banter, but today he found himself saying, "You miss her."

Alistair's answer was long in coming, and when he finally spoke his voice was quiet, with no trace of the usual self-deprecating jocularity. "I fear for her. And, to be honest, I'm terrified of what'll happen if she doesn't get back. She's ... she's our leader. We've all been following her and I don't think everyone will ... I know I have to keep going without her, if she doesn't come back. But I don't think I'll be able to finish this alone."

As far as he could recall, Zevran had never seen him like this. Never this honest, this vulnerable. Not with him, at any rate. Perhaps once, just after Redcliffe, when they had spoken of how he felt about Elena - but even then Alistair had finished off with a joke. "You won't be alone," he said. "I promised her I'd see this through, with or without her. I know you don't think much of me but, for what it's worth, I'll have your back."

Alistair looked up, eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"Well, of course you'll never know for sure," Zevran grinned. "It won't come to that. She will return."

"Let's hope so. I'd hate to find out that 'I'll have your back' is really just another euphemism gone over my head."

Zevran laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Now there's the Alistair I'm used to."

 

"Is it not cold in your tent, all alone?"

"I- ... You- ... What?"

Zevran gave Morrigan a puzzled frown. It was dusk and they were sitting by the fire, sharing a bottle of mead Bodahn had brought them. Sten had gone to sleep at twilight, seeing no point in needlessly prolonging his days with idle chatter. Just as well really - Zevran would try to talk to him sometimes, but usually ended up feeling like he was interrogating the man and quickly gave up. Morrigan on the other hand ... some nights they had actual conversations. Most nights, not so much. And he never knew what mood she was in.

"O-oh, speechless for once! What happened pray tell? Cat got your tongue, hmm?" She sidled closer to him, an impish grin on her lips.

"You are behaving very strangely, my dear. What is this about?"

She shrugged. Leaning her chin in the cup of her hand, elbow propped on her knee, she gazed at him through her lashes. "I was merely thinking that you must be very lonely now that your darling Warden left you behind..."

Zevran's eyes narrowed. Baiting him, was she? Well, two could play that game. "The same could be said for you. After all, it's not like anyone else particularly cares for your presence."

Her expression changed into an angry frown, eyes flashing in the firelight. "Is that so?"

He wondered for a moment if he had gone too far. Perhaps she had merely wanted to make conversation? If so, she could certainly have chosen her wording better. No, he couldn't believe that she honestly cared if he missed Elena, or if he felt abandoned. Nor was it any of her business. "It is, as you well know." He stood up brusquely, Morrigan following suit.

"And why should I care? Elena is the only person in this troupe of fools to have shown any sign of competence. That you think I should worry that the rest of you do not like me is quite frankly laughable."

Morrigan stared down at him, her voice now laden with poison. Zevran could feel the situation spiraling but had no idea how to stop.

"You should care because the moment Elena even so much as begins to change her mind about you, you will be on your own," he hissed, taking a threatening step closer. She stood her ground.

"Hmph! And who is going to change her mind, then? _You?_ Do you really think she listens to you? You are no better person than I am - I know it, she knows it, _you_ know it. You are but here to save your own skin, hiding from the Crows behind her skirt like a frightened little boy, and trying to make up for it with that ridiculous 'dashing scoundrel' act. 'Tis a wonder she took you to her bed, but I suppose even the brightest of gems has its flaws."

Zevran crossed his arms. "As I recall, you're hardly impervious to my charms yourself. At least Elena has the sense to follow her desires. _You_ must be dried up like a prune at this point."

She leaned down. "Even if I were, and you were the last man on Thedas, I would never let you anywhere _near_ me, you disgusting little _imp_."

 

Alone in her tent at last, Morrigan stared into darkness. This certainly had not been her plan. She supposed it might qualify as an arguably pleasant diversion, but it had potential ramifications she didn't wish to think of. For now, she was trying to figure out how and why it had happened.

She had been bored for days. She had read Flemeth's grimoire thrice, sorted and resorted her components. There was no Alistair to tease. Sten had called her on her flirtatious jokes and so that particular source of entertainment had run dry. The dog was fun to play with, from time to time, but offered little by way of intellectual stimulation. She had explored the surroundings in beast form and there was little more to see that wouldn't take her too far away. The dwarves wouldn't let her into their city. She'd even found herself missing Wynne's sanctimonious lectures - at least the woman had a brain, however poorly she chose to use it.

So as a last resort, she had thought to turn the tables on Zevran; get back at him after that bet between him and Alistair. She'd already had her revenge on Alistair and it was only fair that Zevran got his. A simple seduction, just to turn him down. She would laugh, he would laugh (eventually), everyone would be happier for it. But instead of the usual banter, he had snapped and turned on her.

She frowned, rolling over and pulling a blanket up to her chin. What had started it? That comment about Elena leaving? She had expected a reply on the usual lines, something about how her lovely company fulfilled his every desire. That, she could have worked with. But he'd veered in a completely different direction. It was as though his anger had already been there before she even started talking, as though she had somehow unwittingly opened a cage and let out a raging beast.

Perhaps she had been wrong about him. Perhaps he cared more than she had thought. And if so, chances were Elena did as well. In which case what they had just done could definitely prove to be ... problematic.

And this was to say nothing of her own reaction at his words. That he had actually managed to rile her up was almost inconcievable. Since when did she care what any one of them thought of her? She shouldn't even care about Elena. _Didn't_ care. She didn't need anyone; her friendship with the Warden was but a means to an end.

"That's all," Morrigan whispered to herself. "A means to an end."

Eventually she slept.

 

Zevran didn't sleep. He sat with his back to the fire, staring into the darkness of the surrounding forest and trying not to think or feel. Especially the latter was proving difficult: Parts of him ached. There were raw marks on his back and arms that he swore could not have been caused by normal human fingernails.

At any other point in his life, he would have been exhilarated. Even now, he couldn't pretend it hadn't been enjoyable. Anger and passion were but two sides of the same coin, something he had always known and taken great pleasure in exploiting. Morrigan was absolutely stunning, of course, and also absolutely _present_. Such complete command of her body; the unthinking confidence with which she wielded it against him like a weapon ... these were rare qualities in a woman. In his past, there were only two that compared - Isabela and ... Rinna.

He groaned quietly to himself, burying his face in his hands for a moment. Yes, at any other point in his life, bedding Morrigan would have been a crowning achievement, the ultimate notch in the bedposts of his mind. Now, for some reason, he just felt stupid. Pleasantly sore and temporarily satisfied, but stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I don't think I'll ever be able to write a sex scene with Morrigan. She has too much integrity, I'd feel like I was invading her privacy.


	13. The world we're trying to save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroine returns to the surface.

She was upright before she was awake. Snakes of lightning slithered up her arms, sparks jumping between her splayed fingers. Her breath echoed loudly, but she didn't know if it was a true echo of the cave or if her mind had merely closed in on itself. Maybe she wasn't actually awake ... It was dark - always the darkness, the neverending darkness, rank with death and corruption - all she could see were the sparks. She gave a small laugh, hysteria clutching at her chest, her throat. _Sparks_. Sparks aplenty. Just not the right kind of spark. Not here, not alone in the dark. Never here.

It had never been desire before - often sloth, sometimes fear, and now and then she had felt the hulking presence of pride. This time it had been different, and she had almost fallen for it. But the dream had been too beautiful, too perfect to come from her own mind, and she had squirmed away and pushed at it until she heard the desire demon's drawl behind his voice. She had called for fire and thunder, and now it would not stop.

"Elena?" came Leliana's whisper. "Elena, what are you doing? What's wrong?"

She was aware that the bard approached her in the flickering light of the magic, but couldn't tear her eyes from her arms. "I-I-I can't c-control it," she said. She was shuddering violently, her teeth clattering together, tongue jerking unpredictably as she spoke. "It's r-ripping ... it's a-a-all ripping ap-part. I'm h-hunted Leli ... they s-s-smell my fear and they t-tear at me and I c-can't cont-trol it. They will tear ... th- _they will tear through_."

Leliana took two more steps and wrapped her arms around Elena, heedless of the electricity coursing through her body. Her muscles twitched and trembled, but she kept hold of the other, hugging her tightly. "Elena, it's alright," she said, stroking her back, her hair. "It's alright, I've got you."

"N-n-no." Elena's voice was small and broken. "P-please, don't, I'll k-kill you." But she didn't pull away. Instead she collapsed against the other, sobbing.

"I've got you. I love you and I will see you through this. You won't fail. They're all waiting for you on the surface. You'll see Alistair again, and Zevran and the others. You'll see the sky again, Elena. You're strong, so very strong. Whatever's out there can't get at you, and if it tries it'll have to go through me. I won't let you go. I love you."

Leliana gently eased her onto the ground, speaking without pause. She rocked the crying Warden, lightning forcing them both into shivering spasms now and then, but abating slowly. She whispered to her, nonsensical stories full of green meadows and clear streams and lovers underneath the stars. She sang softly, softly, and stroked her hair until eventually Elena slept with her head in Leliana's lap, a deep and blissfully dreamless sleep.

Elena slept, and didn't know that the worst was yet to come.

 

He had promised her they would leave after a month. They waited two.

 

The thunder of an approaching golem alerted them to her return. It was early afternoon and Zevran, Alistair and Sten were huddled around the fire, a heavy snowfall having interrupted their usual training.

Zevran was on his feet the moment she reached the camp. "Elena! You are safe," he breathed. Joy rattled the bars of his heart but stopped short of reaching his face. Something was not right. Shale was ever the statue, but Oghren looked like he had drowned in a barrel of beer. And Leliana and Elena both looked like they had just climbed out of a grave.

"Glad to know you missed us," Leliana said dully, her tone uncharacteristically ascerbic. If the jibe had been meant to make him feel foolish, it hit the mark. Right now he just didn't care.

He watched as Alistair wrapped Elena in a bear hug, then embraced her himself. After, he held her at arm's length and studied her face. She was sallow, her eyes dark and sunken. Though she had been underground for weeks upon weeks, he couldn't believe it was simply lack of sunlight that ailed her. She was alive, but lifeless.

The rest of the companions had gathered around them at this point. Wynne, who had escorted the group out of Orzammar said, "You must be exhausted. Come, sit down. We'll get a stew going, and I'll make you some tea." The quiver in her voice betrayed how worried she was, and she busied herself trying to make them comfortable.

Elena still didn't say a word.

 

"Tell us what happened."

Much later, Elena was sitting by the fire, flanked by Wynne and Alistair. Zevran sat opposite them, toying aimlessly with a coin. Neither Elena nor Leliana had spoken more than a few words since they got back, and the dwarf had gotten himself roaring drunk and fallen asleep in a snow drift, waking up now and then to rant incoherently about his wife. The golem had headed back into Orzammar to wrap up some business or other, stating that it - no, she - would be back the next day.

Zevran watched the coin wander over his fingers. He felt useless. When he approached her, offering the comfort of his arms, inquiring about her wellbeing, tentatively trying to liven up the mood with a joke or two ... there was simply nothing. She just looked at him as if he wasn't there. The Elena that had returned from the Deep Roads was not the Elena that had left. All this time he had spent trying not to worry that he had lost her, cursing himself for imagining that he in some way _had_ her in the first place, then worrying again - and now she was back, but still just as lost.

He palmed the coin, or tried to. Hands numb from cold, he fumbled and dropped it. He left it on the ground and instead lifted his face to watch Elena across the fire.

Her hand lay limply in Alistair's. Wynne was stroking her arm. "Please, Elena," Alistair repeated quietly. "Tell us what's wrong."

She looked up, harrowed eyes flitting about the camp until her gaze landed on Leliana. The bard returned her hollow stare with eyes just as empty, then looked down. "I can't talk about it. I just can't," Leliana mumbled. "I'm sorry Elena. I can't."

Eventually Elena spoke. "We found Branka. We found the Anvil of the Void. But they're both gone now."

"Start from the beginning, dear," Wynne said gently, wrapping her arm around Elena's slender shoulders.

Elena started from the beginning.

And they listened as she told them of darkness and tainted madmen and the archdemon's flight over a river of darkspawn.

And horror grew in them as she told them of Hespith and the Broodmother and Branka and the trenches.

And at some point she interrupted herself to throw up what little stew she had managed to eat, and then kept heaving and sobbing and heaving again until her stomach was empty. At some point, there was an anguished howl from Oghren about what a sodding idiot his wife had been. At some point, Leliana joined them by the fire, picking up the tale when Elena could no longer speak.

And Leliana finished: "Caridin let himself fall into the abyss. There isn't much to tell after that. We hurried back. Shale found the thaig that was once her home. We arrived in Orzammar this morning and they called an assembly immediately. Elena gave Bhelen the crown. Harrowmont was executed."

"... it all just seems ... irrelevant," Elena whispered hoarsely. "Two years they were down there. Two years. A whole House, sacrificed. There was no darkspawn taint in Branka, she was just ... a person. Harrowmont bent his knee to Bhelen and still lost his life. _This_ is the world we're trying to save. Full of people who will sacrifice anything and everything but themselves for a chance at ... power."

Silence descended, heavy and oppressive. Little more was said that night. When they retired to their tents, Zevran hesitated. Elena had disappeared into her tent without inviting him. But Leliana met his eyes and said, quietly, "Go to her."

He did, and he took her in his arms, and she clung to him as she cried herself to sleep.

 

Elena woke up in the small hours of the morning, going from exhausted sleep to alert wakefulness in a matter of seconds. There had been no day or night in the deeps. They had rested when they had to, and darkspawn attacks had interrupted their sleep as often as not. There was a faint glow in the tent and she looked down, realising she had readied her magic unthinkingly, before she was even awake. She allowed it to dissipate.

She wondered what had woken her up. Some forest noise, no doubt: An owl hunting, snow falling from branches, Greg snuffling round the camp. It mattered not; she was safe here. But she couldn't go back to sleep no matter how she tried.

Eventually she extracted herself from the stifling warmth of furs and blankets and Zevran's arms. He didn't wake up. She realised he must have removed her clothes after she fell asleep, as she couldn't remember undressing. Now she rummaged through the tent and pulled a tunic over her head. She slipped outside.

The light powdering of snow that had coated the ground when they reached Orzammar was now a thick blanket. Among the tents, it was trodden flat, and there was a bare patch of ground around the campfire. She supposed they must have kept the fire going pretty much constantly. A faint twinge of guilt. She should have set them up with lodgings in the city before she went. Or sent them down to one of the human villages in the foothills, though she knew they wouldn't have gone.

She looked around, wondering whose watch it was. The camp was still, empty.

She walked barefoot over the snow. It was painfully cold, but this was a welcome sort of pain. Much of the Deep Roads had had a stuffy kind of heat to them, suffused with a stench of caked blood and darkspawn taint. The cold felt pure and sharp against her skin.

At the edge of the camp she found a patch of untrodden snow. She scooped some into her hands, watched it melt in the flickering light of the fire. Water dripped from her fingertips. She picked up another handful and brought it to her mouth. It tasted like clear skies. Above her, points of light glinted between the branches of ancient conifers. She realised she had forgotten about stars.

Her feet were throbbing with agony now. She ignored them.

Something shifted in the darkness, a large shape, black on the dull grey of snow on this moonless night. Elena watched it, unmoving. As it came closer, she saw that it was a great wolf walking steadily towards her, looking at her with yellow eyes. It carried a dead mountain goat in its jaws.

"Hello, Morrigan."

The wolf set the goat carefully down in a snowdrift. Then Morrigan stood. She met Elena's eyes and they looked at each other for a long while. Elena wondered what the other was thinking - there was something of concern in her eyes, maybe even tenderness. Possibly pity. The witch started walking towards her tent, but as she passed the Warden she paused and laid a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed it gently. Then she moved on.

Elena smiled into the darkness. She picked up more snow, let it melt, and passed her wet hands over her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't really hit me how absolutely horrific the Paragon storyline is until the second playthrough. This is my bumbling attempt att paying homage to a brilliant gaming experience by having it actually make some _impact_ on the characters that went through it.


	14. Some time to think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Zevran doesn't know what to expect, and Elena doesn't know what to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut returns!

Days passed and they remained camped outside Orzammar; Elena and Leliana simply had no energy to go on yet. Oghren might have been better off, but it was hard to tell given his state of perpetual drunkenness. Elena supposed she could have stayed in the city, but she wouldn't go down there ever again if she had the choice. She didn't mind the cold.

Leliana was laughing again, even singing sometimes. They were both regaining colour. Once they left the dark, it felt surprisingly easy to put everything behind them. It was as though the horrors of the Deep Roads couldn't touch them here, beneath the open sky. It was an illusion, she knew. After all, the whole point of their quest was to prevent exactly that from happening.

The others fussed over them, each in their own way, and would sometimes ask about what they had experienced. Neither of them would speak of their journey again, but Shale was willing enough to fill in the details they had forgotten or left out of their own account.

Then, of course, there was Zevran.

He was kind to her, but somehow he felt distant. After that first evening, they had gotten back into their usual routine of her asking him to join her every night. He always acquiesced, but he seemed content to simply hold her until she fell asleep - or he did. She didn't know if this was a good thing or not. A part of her ached for him to possess her again, another part wanted to shut the first part down and stop asking him to her bed. His presence in her life had proven to be a liability.

And the way he held back confused her. The fact that he didn't touch her intimately, didn't attempt to resume their game or even just make wordless love to her like he sometimes would before ... she didn't understand why. Moreover, she didn't understand why he still joined her at all, if that wasn't what he wanted anymore.

Then there was the question of what _she_ wanted. At night when she found herself awake, she would conjure just enough light to watch his face as he slept. She thought of what the demon had tried to give her. Such a silly dream - and yet. And yet...

But it had been wrong. It had never been like that between them, would never be. He had said so himself, hadn't he? He must have. A Crow could be a lover, but would never love. He would fight at her side, and then give her respite in his arms. Companionship. That was all it was, and that was all it needed to be. Safer for the both of them.

So she would tell herself, as she watched him sleep.

Every morning, the light hurt her eyes. Even if the sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, the world was bright with snow. Elena relished it. She would throw the tent flap aside and stare at the blazing whiteness until her head pounded and tears ran down her cheeks. She would draw in lungfuls of crisp air through her nose, and it smelled of ... nothing. The world had never been so beautiful.

 

He watched as roses bloomed on her cheeks once more. The sparkle had returned to her eyes and she was smiling again. Not quite the way she used to smile; there was something guarded about her now, but at least she looked alive. She asked for his company at night, and though she demanded nothing, there was no mistaking the way she aligned their bodies, threw her thigh over his and pressed herself against him. Once or twice, he had caught her looking at him with a puzzled frown.

The night before they finally pulled camp to leave Orzammar, some ten days after Elena's return from the Deeps, Zevran judged it time to talk.

"I need to tell you something."

Elena had been lying half on top of him with her head on his chest as was her habit, but now she shifted slightly, pulling apart from him enough so that she could look at his face. "Okay," she said. She seemed unsurprised.

"You have probably been wondering why I have not initiated any ... intimate conduct, as it were."

"I guessed you wanted to give me a bit of time maybe. Or you just ... didn't want to, I guess. I'm aware I've been a bit of a mess." She added the last part in a mumble, as if embarrassed to admit she had insecurities.

Zevran chuckled. She did look different. Ten days of rest hadn't been enough to replace the flesh she had lost in the deeps. Her heart-shaped face was gaunt, her once soft limbs now lean and tough. Though her cheeks were pink again, the rest of her skin seemed almost transculent after two months in the dark. It mattered little to him. "Oh, you are as beautiful as ever, Elena my dear. It is not that I haven't wanted to. And yes, to begin with you needed some time to recuperate, but also there's ... something that you need to know about. It may be that you will not want me in your tent, let alone in your bed, once you know. I have no wish to take advantage of you in any way. I will tell you what happened, you will decide how to continue, if at all. If you wish me to leave, I will understand."

"Now I'm worried." She smiled nervously.

He sighed. He wished he had some notion of what her reaction might be, but try as he might he couldn't even begin to guess. Elena was a teenage girl, and his experience of teenage girls said they were quite prone to jealousy. But the Warden had a rather singular approach to emotions, and she had no past to judge from. There was nothing for it; he'd simply have to take the plunge. Steeling himself, he blurted out, "While you were away, I bedded Morrigan."

Elena stared at him wordlessly for a few moment. Then she said, "Oh," and laid back down with her head on his chest.

Moments passed. He listened to her breathing, trying to work out whether she was upset. If she was trembling, he couldn't feel it, but that was probably because he himself was rather tense. When she didn't say anything further, he went on. "I guess you might say it happened by accident, the first time. After that, on occasion, we sought each other out."

"You and Morrigan. Huh."

"Eh, heh. Cold weather and boredom make for strange bedfellows, I suppose." He frowned. "It sounds like I am trying to make excuses. I'm not. What happened, happened. I will regret it if it means you turn me away, but I will not lie and say it was unpleasant, or that I was somehow innocent in this."

"Huh," Elena said again.

After another drawn-out silence, Zevran gave a slightly tremulous laugh. "Now I'm nervous."

She lifted her head again, propping it up on her arm. Her lips smiled vaguely, but her eyebrows were drawn together and her eyes wide. "Sorry Zev. I really don't know how I'm supposed to react. I mean, I've read enough ridiculous romance stories to know I'm expected to scream and throw things at you. Vases and plates and stuff."

"We'd have to leave the tent first, no room for throwing anything in here. Also there is no china, nor any walls to break it against, which I understand is generally part of such scenes, no?"

Elena giggled, though her face was still tense. She looked away, speaking across his chest rather than to his face. "It just seems like ... like it would be sort of stupid of me to get mad? I never asked you not to sleep with anyone else, so that would be an unfair expectation. I can't say I'm happy about it, but ... I also can't claim that you have done anything wrong."

"You are a very strange woman," he mumbled.

"Why?"

Habitually, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She did not flinch away. "Listen, there is nothing wrong with getting angry once in a while. I know many would consider it completely justified in this case. But you ... You tend to give the impression of being driven by your emotions. I know Sten and Morrigan are both convinced you are completely irrational half the time. But the more I get to know you, the more I realise that you treat your emotions the way you treat ... logical puzzles. And that, my dear Warden, is strange."

"I'm ... I'm not sure what you mean. I don't know how else to be."

He laughed gently. "Of course you don't. None of us know how to be anything other than what we are, do we? I'm not saying there's something wrong with you, merely that you are very different from most women I've met." He considered what he'd just said for a moment and then added, "And most men."

She relaxed against him again, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. "And ... Morrigan?" she asked. He was certain she was blushing now, there was something in her voice which gave it away.

"... We _are_ talking about the same person, yes? Dark hair, yellow eyes, sharp tongue? Because if you are asking if you are different from her, I think you may need ... some kind of help."

Elena grunted. "I just mean ... I guess I'm wondering whether you'll be ... Uh. You know. Any more?"

"That is entirely up to you."

"It's what?!"

"Ah, eh, I'm sorry, that really came out very ... definitely not the way I meant it. I meant to say that if you still want me in your bed, I expect to be much too preoccupied to even consider anyone else's. If you don't ... I cannot say. I do not know if Morrigan would even want to. For the most part, I suspect she still despises me." He sighed and shifted, cupping her chin to make her look at him. "I really would much rather be here. With you. Which brings me to the important question. Do you still want ... this? Do you still want to be mine, in here? My pet?"

She looked at him seriously. "Can I have some time to think?"

Zevran's heart sank. Needing time to think was rarely a good sign. But he kept his face still and simply nodded, letting go of her chin to run his fingertips along the line of her cheekbone.

She kept looking at him for a little while. Then she said, "Okay, I've thought about it."

 

"So I guess regular activities have been resumed," Alistair sighed. "Remind me never to volunteer for first watch."

"Well, I won't be able to sleep for a while anyway. Shall I sing us a song?" Leliana replied brightly.

 

She had half expected him to fall on her like an avalanche when she said she still wanted him. The memory of their last coupling was still vivid; the details were blurry but the frantic passion of it was seared into her mind's eye. But here and now, an entirely different memory surfaced; that of their first night together. Elena was on her back again. Zevran hovered above her, the blankets draped over his body covering them like a tent within the tent. She could see his teeth and the whites of his eyes flashing in the darkness as he smiled.

His lips brushed against hers and she heard herself whimper. She lifted her head, pushing up against him, parting her lips to his and inviting him to claim her mouth. He chuckled low in his throat and twisted her hair into a firm grip, holding her head down. "Be still," he admonished her. She gasped and closed her eyes, the world falling away around her. There was no tent, no camp, no companions, no quest, no magic, no darkspawn. All that existed now was his will. She could feel herself smile vaguely and heard him chuckle again.

Once more she felt his lips against hers, feather-light, softly exploring. Gradually, the kiss intensified. She tried to remain passive, as he had indicated was his desire, but it was nigh impossible not to respond. He ran his tongue over her lips, probed them apart and tasted her mouth. She opened to him willingly and let the tip of her own tongue dance with his, drawing him in deeper.

"Finally back where you belong," he whispered as he pulled away to catch his breath. "Underneath me." Her lower body was trapped by his, and she felt his growing hardness between them. She moaned and rolled her hips, trying to get her legs around him. His grip on her hair tightened and he growled, "Wanton little thing ... didn't I tell you to be still?"

"Yes ... but ... please," she breathed. His chest thrummed with laughter; her skin flushed hotly in response. She forced herself to be still, to relax her quivering thighs, stop panting. She would be soft and compliant for him. Open and receptive, such was her role tonight. To be taken.

"You want this?" he said, angling his hips so that his length slid between her slick folds and pressed against her clit.

Her response was immediate: "Oh Maker, yes."

"Then beg. Beg for me."

"Please, Zevran ... please take me, I beg you."

"Speak plainly," he growled, twisting her hair painfully. "Tell me what you want."

She moaned, body trembling with her effort to stay still when she so desperately wanted to arch herself against him. "I want ... please ... I want you to f-fuck me," she whispered.

"There now. That wasn't so hard, was it." He let go of her hair and plunged into a passionate kiss, suddenly pressing himself against her. She moaned into his mouth and tried to wrap her arms around him, but he grabbed her wrists and held her down as he rolled his hips against hers, eventually drawing back so that he could position himself to slide inside. "Mine," he growled huskily as he thrust into her, and again: "Mine."

Her response a breathless "Yes. Yes," and her knees drawn up, hips tilting so that he could bury himself in her completely with ease. He did, over and over, every thrust sending a shock through her body.

His rhythm was steady and his breathing controlled. Elena moaned and Zevran didn't stop her. Perhaps she had left her dignity somewhere back in the Deep Roads, perhaps she simply didn't care if the others heard her pleasure. They didn't exist right now, anyway. She strained against him, felt his calloused hands grip her wrists tighter. And there, in that invisible tension of muscle against muscle, was all that mattered. He had her. She was here, underneath him, trapped, and he was inside her, holding her down, claiming her.

There were no words, no insults, no humiliating pictures painted in her mind. No pain edging her pleasure. Only bodies moving together to the sound of her breathing, her moans and whimpers. She opened her eyes to find that his were fastened on her face, a faint smile curling one corner of his lips. Slowly he picked up his pace, and his breathing grew ragged. At some point he released her wrists and hooked his arms under her knees, forcing her hips up so that he pounded straight down into her. Her eyes rolled back and she felt herself drifting, mind swimming in pleasure, aware only of how he moved inside her.

Finally, he climaxed, collapsing on top of her and moaning against her neck. They lay like that for some time, breathing slowly calming as their sweat mingled and cooled their bodies. Zevran pulled a blanket over them, and she wondered when it had slid away.

He moved off her and pushed her over onto her side, spooning her body with his. She thought that he would let her sleep then, but instead his hand started wandering over her body, exploring it and waking her slumbering fires once more. He traced the lines of her throat, made her shiver when he wrapped his hand around it and pressed gently, reminding her of her fragility. He plucked gently at her nipples until they stiffened, then pinched them until she whimpered. He stroked her waist and her behind, squeezing gently and following the cleft down to where buttock met thigh. His fingers fluttered gently over her soft flesh and she whimpered again, shifting instinctively to part her thighs for him, give him more to explore.

He let his lips brush her neck, the edge of her ear. "Spread for me," he whispered, and she lifted her knee. His hand slipped round to the front again, sliding over her thigh and pulling her legs further apart. She found herself desperately wanting him to touch her sex, but he merely caressed her thigh, gently running his fingers down the inside until nearly at her groin, then circling up over her belly and down the other thigh. Only when her whimpers became more more insistent did he give in, but then he only let his fingertips trace her labia. Her hips twitched involuntarily and he chuckled at her desperation.

"Do you want to come?" he asked, his breath hot against her ear.

She nodded, tongue-tied.

"Use your words, pet."

"Yes, please," she finally managed. "Please, let me come."

He laid two fingers along her clit, pressing gently, and it didn't take long until her world exploded.

 

He curled his body around hers, cradling her relaxed form. Soon she was breathing deeply, her hand twitching slightly the way it sometimes did when she was dreaming. "I missed you," he heard himself whisper.

Her reply came in a drowsy mumble: "You were with me. Every step of the way."

Silly woman was supposed to have been sleeping. Zevran sighed and hugged her close to him, squeezing her until she squeaked and giggled. He'd spent so much time shoring up his defenses. There was no key to his heart, not since Rinna.

Trust Elena to come at it with a battering ram.

 

The next morning, upon restowing her equipment, Elena found the mirror. She had bought it in Orzammar and sent it to the surface along with the other things she wouldn't bring into the Deep Roads, and then she had simply forgotten it. It had been lying at the bottom of a pack ever since, wrapped in an old shirt. She traced the gold filigree with her fingers.

Looking up, she spotted Morrigan at the other side of the camp. The witch had already packed her belongings and was watching the others work with a bored look on her face. Elena felt something tighten in her chest and took a deep breath. She prodded at the emotion, trying to figure it out, but it wouldn't explain itself and so she left it alone. Looking down at her own face gazing out at her from the mirror, she asked herself if she could still give it away as she had planned.

It was to have been an offering of friendship. Perhaps it could also be an offering of peace. With herself, if not with Morrigan.

She stood, mirror in hand, and strode across the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jealous drama is like my least favourite fanfic trope ever. Like, I love me some angst, but jealousy-based angst is so ... cheap. So, hah. No jealous drama for these two!


	15. Telling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Morrigan takes a big step. Also there's shenanigans.

Winter had the mountains well in its grasp, but the rest of Ferelden seemed quite unperturbed by the changing of seasons. It was still mostly green, if rather a lot colder than they had left it - and far muddier. As the group travelled down the gently undulating foothills of the northern Frostbacks, Morrigan found herself wishing for snow. Camping outside Orzammar had been very cold and often dreadfully boring, but at least she had been dry most of the time. And hunting was both easier and more fun in the mountains than it had ever been in the swamp.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, they made camp in the shelter of a steep gully. A brook bubbled down the middle, but there was plenty of dry ground on which to raise their tents. Morrigan set hers apart from the others as usual, although these days she didn't put quite as much distance between the camps as she used to. It wasn't that she particularly cared for the others, of course, but she had grown used to them. Their constant chatter didn't bother her as much as it had.

She watched the Warden and Zevran sitting by the newly started fire, laughing together. There was a certain way Elena would sometimes touch his arm or shoulder. Morrigan hadn't noticed it until after Orzammar, and now it bothered her in a way she couldn't quite articulate. She shook her head and turned to go through her things, having a mind to check on her supply of components. Glinting in the opening of her pack was the golden mirror.

She sighed. One of the reasons she enjoyed Elena's company was that she never tried to touch her. In fact, the Warden seemed much like herself in that way; she never really seemed to touch anyone if she could help it. But she touched Zevran. Morrigan stared at the mirror, turning it over in her hands to trace the patterns adorning the back with her fingers. Then she put it down and walked over to the main campfire.

"I need to speak with you." Her eyes were on Elena, excluding the elf beside her quite effectively.

"What's on your mind, Morrigan?"

She cocked her head towards her camp, and Elena shrugged, rising to follow her.

"I had not intended to mention it," she began while they were still walking. She realised that she was nervous, and it irritated her. "'Tis really a thing of no consequence, I thought, but ... but then you gave me that mirror, and you keep insisting we are _friends_ , and I thought I would be remiss if..."

They stopped when they reached her tent. Morrigan shifted from foot to foot, feeling Elena's eyes on her. The Warden's expression was open and curious. Sometimes, she looked very much like a child. "Yes?"

Morrigan cleared her throat. "Well. Ah. Something happened, while you were in the Deep Roads. Involving Zevran."

"Something..?"

 _Ugh_. Those huge, green eyes. "You are really not making this any easier," she muttered under her breath. Why was this so difficult? She had done nothing wrong, really. If Elena took offense, well, such was the way of life. "Something involving Zevran and ... me."

"I know you slept with him, Morrigan. It's okay."

"I ... what?"

"You and Zevran had sex while I was in the Deep Roads. He told me."

Morrigan stared. Elena wore a serious but non-committal expression and her voice was level. If she was angry, it didn't show. "...why would he have told you?" The moment she heard the words coming from her mouth, she realised how silly they were, and she cursed herself for speaking them. There was of course a chance Zevran was some kind of master manipulator, but they had been travelling together for months now and it just didn't strike her as likely that this was all some elaborate scheme of his.

The result was immediate; Elena smiled at her, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Well, why were you about to tell me just now?"

"This is very ... confusing," Morrigan admitted. She sat down on her still rolled-up bedroll, frowning slightly. Elena plopped unceremoniously down on the ground beside her. "You are not angry?"

Elena shrugged. "Zevran is what he is. I never asked him to stop pursuing others. If I still expected him to, that would be my own problem. Not his, and certainly not yours." She had picked up a small stick and was now drawing an abstract design in the sand by her feet. A few months ago, Morrigan would have thought she was trying to avoid looking at her, but since then she'd learned that Elena was almost always fiddling with something.

"That ... is a surprisingly practical view of the matter, coming from you."

Now Elena looked up briefly, tilting her head as she regarded Morrigan. "Why? I'm always practical. I just have different ways of going about it than you. And I measure success differently." She shrugged again. "When it comes to feelings ... I could be angry, I suppose. I could allow myself to feel righteous about it. And then - what would I gain from that? It would poison my relationship with both you and Zevran. I'd just end up lonelier."

Morrigan shook her head slightly. Every time she believed she had Elena figured out... "I thought perhaps you would feel betrayed," she said carefully. She had been prepared for anger, for jealousy. She had thought she would have to defend her actions, and that their budding friendship would fall apart. In a way, that would have been a relief. She picked up the mirror, looking down into it as she spoke. "I was ... I wanted to give the mirror back. I should never have accepted it."

"Maybe I do feel betrayed. But like I said, if so, that's my problem. I won't take it back. Zevran had already told me when I gave it to you. It made me happy to see you happy."

"Oh." That meant he must have told her before they even left Orzammar. And Morrigan was fairly certain the two of them hadn't been intimate before then. She shook her head again, faintly disturbed. It was unsettling when someone like Zevran defied her expectations.

Elena looked up at her again, a bright smile now lighting her face, and interrupted her musings: "I'm glad you came to talk to me, Morrigan. Shows I was right. You've a good heart, even if you don't know it."

Once again she was thankful of Elena's aversion to touch - she recognised this as one of those moments where girls would usually try to hug someone. "Believe what you will, just please, do not tell the others," Morrigan said with a wry smile, and was rewarded with a laugh.

"Your secret is safe with me. Your reputation as the resident caustic witch shall remain untarnished."

Morrigan looked at the mirror again and thought of Flemeth. _Perhaps_... She had never dared hope ... but perhaps she might actually tell Elena what she had learned from the black grimoire. Perhaps Elena might even help her.

 

"Why's it _you_ never haveta stay up?" Oghren asked sulkily. Like Elena, he had just left his tent, and now he was blinking blearily at her in the early light. He looked the worse for wear. Not that it was easy to tell with the dwarf near-constant state of inebriation. Elena started gesturing with the freshly baked flatbread she'd just found by the fire, but was interrupted before she could answer.

"Because she's useless at it," Alistair informed the dwarf. Elena tried to protest but he continued, undeterred. "When we were leaving the Korcari wilds with Morrigan, she fell asleep on us three nights in a row. So we refused to let her take any more watches. If it wasn't for Greg, we'd never have reached Lothering! Some great hero she is." Alistair grinned at her and made a motion as if to duck.

"I'm still growing! I need sleep!"

"Yer, well, g'luck with that," Oghren muttered. "Stone knows it ain't helpin' with yer beauty. Hehh." He belched loudly and plodded off into the bushes.

Alistair waved his hand in front of his face. "Phew. Remind me why he's going with us, again?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oghren's a good guy - once you learn to ignore the stench, and the lechery..."

"Kind of like Zevran, then?"

This time he did duck, but that didn't stop her from punching him on the shoulder. It was like punching a barn. Alistair sure hadn't slacked off while she was gone. When constantly travelling together it was difficult to see the change, but now that she'd been away for a while and thought back on what he was like when she first met him, it was clear. While he was still as goofy as ever, there was no longer any hint of callowness in his looks or moves.

"Watch it, brother. One of these days, I'll make good on that fireball threat." A big smile took the edge off her words.

Zevran's voice came from within her tent: "Did I hear my name? What am I being accused of now?" He stuck his head out, peering at them with his mouth pursed.

"Being a lecher," Alistair admitted blithely.

The elf grinned. "Guilty as charged."

"He also said you stink," Elena said, voice muffled by a mouthful of bread. She thanked her lucky star that Wynne had been able and willing to join their quest - she didn't have the first idea of how to cook for herself and had quickly tired of Alistair's ... whatever they were, possibly stews. Wynne seemed to have upped her cooking game since their return from the Deep Roads, and Elena now found herself constantly snacking.

"Now that, we all know is a lie!" Zevran left the tent, drawing himself up and pointing accusingly at Alistair. "Slanderous _shem_ , someone should teach you a lesson."

"Oh yeah? And that someone would be you, I take it? Think you can take me, knife-ear?"

Elena watched as Alistair advanced on Zevran, the two of them exchanging some rather foul insults and then getting into quite a tussle. There didn't seem to be slightest bit of bad blood between them - if anything, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Shaking her head with a bemused smile, she turned to pack up her things. She nearly bumped into Wynne, who had come up behind her while she watched the men.

"They've grown quite close while you were away." Wynne chuckled fondly. "And they show their affection as boys will."

"I'm glad to hear that," Elena said earnestly. Then she giggled and added, "Alistair needs someone to play with who isn't a dog."

"You seem to have a knack for bringing people together."

She looked around. Across the camp, Sten and Shale were having one of their clipped but mutually appreciative conversations. She gave the older mage a self-deprecating smile. "Sure! All I need is a Blight to contend with, and I can have the most ragtag bunch of criminals and misfits make friends."

Wynne shook her head. "Now dear, don't put yourself down like that. You lead by example. When you show everyone here that you trust them, they start trusting each other. Some taking longer than others, of course..." She cast a sideways glance toward Morrigan's camp.

Judging that it hadn't been Wynne's intention that she notice the glance, Elena pretended not to have. "I note that you didn't take offense at being included in the phrase 'criminals and misfits'. Which one ar-"

Their conversation was interrupted by Alistair yelling "I yield! I yield!" Somehow, Zevran had managed to get on top of him and had twisted his arm behind his back, a firm hold on his thumb being all that kept him down.

"Some defender you are!" Elena snorted.

"He cheated!"

"Of course I cheated, I'm an assassin." Zevran sighed and shook his head sadly. "Will you ever learn?"


	16. Not like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Wynne gets involved despite better judgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to end with smut. But the smut got away from me and will get its own chapter. Whups.

Blood coated his arms. Going for the throat was a pretty surefire way to render an enemy dead or at the very least harmless, but it did have a tendency to get messy. Zevran sighed and started wiping down his daggers carefully. At least this was human blood and not whatever it was that oozed through the veins of darkspawn - that always made him nervous.

"These were Loghain's men," Alistair said grimly. He turned over one of the bodies, looking down into what was left of the dead man's face. He had taken one of Elena's boulder missiles to the head. "They're not wearing any insignias as far as I can tell, but they're far too well equipped for mere brigands."

Elena gave a brisk nod. The air around her still crackled with magical energy. As Zevran stepped closer to her, it made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. "Zevran, Leliana, check the surroundings. If they had a scout hiding somewhere ... I won't have them alert Loghain's troops to our position."

Zevran nodded and exchanged a glance with Leliana. They moved off in opposite directions. As he stealthed through the undergrowth, looking for tracks, he thought of how short and utterly brutal the battle had been. Before, when they were attacked by humans, there had been far more leeway for leaving people alive and running them off. Not since the Deep Roads. While Elena seemed to mostly have returned to her old self, she was now completely ruthless whenever they were attacked. Regardless of whom or what attacked them.

Back when they first had met, he would probably have admired her for it. Now, it made him faintly uneasy. It wasn't that she seemed to enjoy violence - it was still nothing but a tool to her. A tool she would avoid using when possible, but used well when she had to. There was something dark and desperate about the way she went about it these days, however.

He had asked Leliana about it once. She had shaken her head without a word, and he let the matter rest. During their nights together, she was soft and compliant as ever.

 

Wynne sighed as she sat down, surreptitiously massaging her legs. It wouldn't do to let the others know how her joints pained her - both Elena and Alistair had a tendency to either fuss or go into some sort of denial about her age. While she appreciated how they cared for her, it was tiring to have them make such a big deal about her being old. Old, and in fact already dead, in a way.

She chortled to herself. The young were always in denial about such things. Perhaps it was the fact that these youths in particular had seen so much of it, stared in its face and conquered it again and again, that it became unthinkable for them to accept that it would eventually claim both them and everyone they knew, one way or another. That would be to admit defeat. They couldn't know that there was peace to be found in death, as well. Rest.

"Wynne, there's something I need to talk about," Elena said, and she shook herself out of her thoughts. The Warden had taken a seat next to her, on a rock right next to the road. They were following the Imperial Highway to stop over and resupply in Denerim before going south to find the elves in the Brecilian forest. It was afternoon, and they were taking a short break to refill their waterskins, having just encountered a small but clear stream.

"What's on your mind, dear?"

Elena picked at her robes and was silent for a while. When she spoke, her voice was low, and she glanced over her shoulder as if to make sure they weren't overheard. "When I was in the Deep Roads ... It wasn't just darkspawn that hunted me. There were demons in my dreams, every night."

Wynne nodded, unsurprised. "That is not so strange, considering. You must have been using a lot of magic, and all that fear and worry ... you probably burned like a beacon to them."

"It's just..." Elena interrupted herself, clearing her throat. She started picking at a small scab on the back of her hand, and Wynne laid a hand gently over hers, stopping her. "I'm used to some of them," Elena eventually continued. "I think there's one or two that have been trying to get at me for years. I mean, it's not as though they've introduced themselves, but they ... feel the same."

"It's not unknown for demons to single out a particular quarry."

"Right ... Well, I know how to deal with those. They've never really come close to tempting me. But this time, down in the deeps, there was a new demon and it ... it nearly got me, Wynne." Elena's voice quavered faintly, and once more she looked over her shoulder.

Wynne frowned. "What kind of demon was it?"

A faint blush crept across Elena's face, and her answer came in a mumble. "... It was desire."

"I see," she replied, keeping her voice level and non-judgmental. "Among the stronger of demons. There's no shame in being drawn in by one such as that. Just be glad it didn't get you. What did it tempt you with?"

"It ... I ... it was ... well..."

Wynne chuckled. "Did it perhaps have something to do with a certain elven assassin in our company?"

The Warden nodded mutely, looking at her hands.

"Oh, child. Demons are clever and dangerous, but all they know is what is in your mind, and they often get it wrong. So foolish was this demon that it tried to tempt you with what you already have."

Looking up at her, Elena shook her head. The blush was now two bright red spots on her cheeks. "But Zev and me ... it's not like that. It's not like that at all!"

"Is that so?" Wynne inquired, arching her eyebrows.

"It's ... we have a thing. It's a good thing, and I enjoy it, but ... it's not like _that_."

Wynne kept looking at the girl for a few moments, then smiled faintly and turned to face the view. She put an arm around Elena's shoulders and gave her a gentle half-hug. "If you say so, dear."

She wondered if perhaps she was partly to blame for Elena's confusion. She remembered well the first time they had talked about her relationship with Zevran; how she had admonished her. Wynne had changed her mind since then, after seeing how much happier and more relaxed the Warden seemed. And after the Deep Roads ... Elena needed some light in her life, now more than ever. So she had told herself she wouldn't get involved any more. Leave the young to their follies, as long as it didn't affect their duties - and it really hadn't. Life was meant to be lived.

But, perhaps, she ought to have a talk with Zevran.

 

"So, you and the Warden..."

Zevran groaned inwardly. He should have known something was up when Wynne claimed a weak spell and asked him for support. Whyever would she have asked him and not Alistair or Leliana? Now they had fallen behind the rest of the group and she was giving him side-eyes. She had never much approved of him, he was well aware, and it hadn't escaped his notice that her disapproval extended to his relationship with Elena.

"Me and the Warden, what?" he said innocently.

"You seem to have grown very ... close." Was that reproach in her voice or was he imagining things? Hard to tell with Wynne sometimes. He said as much. "Oh, no, not reproachful at all! But she's quite taken with you. I'm merely ... watching out for her."

"Is that so? You care a great deal for her, it seems ... Are you sure it's not in fact _you_ who are taken with _her_?" He grinned mischievously at her shocked expression. "Oh but you are, aren't you! I am surprised, Wynne, I had not expected you to be one to seek female company, especially company so young. Still, that explains how you reject my advances so easily. My, your days mentoring those innocent, biddable apprentices must have been very ... exciting, yes?"

Wynne scowled. "You are hopeless! And depraved! You are hopelessly depraved, Zevran!" she declared. Then she cleared her throat and dragged her hands down her skirt in that smoothing-out-the-wrinkles gesture she always made when she was struggling to regain composure. It had become sport for him to make her do it.

"Oh, I know. Completely and utterly perverted. I deserve a spanking. Maybe you would..?"

"Zevran!"

He laughed, partly at her outraged expression, partly with relief that he had managed to dodge her unasked questions. They walked on, and he attempted to lengthen his stride so that they might catch up with the rest of the group. They were finally coming up on Denerim and he was quite excited to enter what passed for Fereldan civilisation again. Wynne seemed intent on keeping him back, however, and he considered simply leaving her to walk alone. But that would be very rude, and though he may be hopelessly depraved, no one would ever accuse him of being less than gentlemanly.

"Seriously, though," she said after a while. "I do hope you know what you're doing."

He shot her a piercing glance. "The Warden is, as you well know, quite capable of taking care of herself. She and I have ... a mutually beneficial arrangement. I can assure you no one is 'taken' with anyone."

Wynne shook her head sadly. "I don't know that she sees it the way you do."

"Oh? What do you know how she sees it? Not that I mind if she tells you. That is, after all, how _you_ support her, no? Don't get me wrong, I very much admire you, and you play a very important role in her life. But remember that we all care for her, in what ways we can. I may not be a fountain of wisdom like you, and I will definitely never be the mother she never had - my talents are ill suited to anything but bed-warming. And so, if warming her bed at night is the only way I can help her, I will do so. Gladly."

He forged ahead, too preoccupied with his own anger to register the stunned look on Wynne's face. Later - much later - he would admit to himself that Wynne had never really been out of line, and that being angry had simply been the easiest way not to think too closely on what had just been said.


	17. Whatever works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Elena gets exactly what she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy.

Elena spent most of that evening trying to work out how to make Zevran be rough with her. She might have simply asked him about it ... but that's not what she wanted.

There was a wet stain on the table in front of her and she poked at it, drawing on the table with the liquid as ink. Around her, her companions were filling the air with empty chatter, staying clear of incriminating topics in case there were Loghain supporters in the tavern. Denerim was large enough that they felt reasonably safe here, but only as long as they kept a low profile.

She wasn't taking part in the conversation however. Instead she thought of how Zevran had taken her in the forest once, and wondered how she could recreate that scenario. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy following and being obedient, but for some reason, just for tonight...

"Hey, Elena, are you in there?" Leliana nudged her. "I said I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, me too. It's been a long day. Thanks for the room, by the way," Alistair said.

Elena nodded at them. Upon reaching Denerim, she had announced that she'd rent rooms at an inn for whomever so wished. They all deserved to sleep in a proper bed. Alistair, Leliana and Wynne had jumped at the opportunity, as had Oghren, but mostly because he correctly surmised that inns also provided beer. Zevran had said he'd sleep in any bed, 'so long as it had a sexy Grey Warden in it' (Alistair had immediately retorted that he was flattered, but preferred to sleep alone). Morrigan on the other hand wanted nothing to do with the city if she could help it, and Sten and Shale seemed not to care one whit, so they made camp outside the city, and Elena left the dog with them.

They hadn't been able to find rooms all at the same inn, but at least they were on the same street. Alistair and Leliana were out the door when Elena decided she'd had enough herself. "Think I'll head to my room, too," she said and pushed away from the table with a sigh. Wynne and Oghren lifted their tankards in farewell and she shook her head with a bemused smile. To think those two would bond over brewing. "Zev?"

"Wherever my lady goes, I follow," he said. The ridiculously grandiose words were accompanied by a decidedly rogueish smile, so she forgave him.

Her room was at the topmost floor of the building, and the only other room here was empty on account of having had its furniture smashed by a previous tenant. She smiled to herself. Stroke of luck, that. She entered the room, followed by Zevran, and he was upon her the moment she closed and latched the door behind her, pushing her up against it and pressing his lips against hers.

She pushed him away, still trying to figure out how to ask for what she wanted to ask for. Zevran's reaction gave her the answer.

He arched an eyebrow at her, smirking. "So! Is that the way of it, hm?"

Of course - this was why she had her secret word, why they had signals. She almost laughed at herself for having worried at a problem when the solution was so simple, but was too distracted by the dangerous set of his jaw. _Oh, yes_. This was most definitely the way of it. She smiled briefly. Then she narrowed her eyes, glaring at him, and pushed harder. "Get off me," she hissed. He chortled, not budging an inch, and she shoved him backwards hard enough to get enough space to slap him across the cheek.

The response was immediate, violent, and exactly what she had been hoping for. He slammed her backwards into the door, hissing Antivan curses at her. "Fereldan whore! I've been too lenient with you. Time I taught you a lesson." He stopped her moan by forcing another kiss on her, this time biting her lip until she could feel the sharp tang of blood in her mouth. Then he grabbed her by the hair and threw her down on the floor.

Elena was already panting with equal parts fear and arousal. She twisted quickly around so she could see him and tried to scrabble backwards, but he was already on top of her. His hand closed tightly around her throat and she took hold of his arm instinctively. He pulled her hands off of him one by one and pinned her arms painfully underneath his knees. She was powerless, she realised - or would have been if not for her magic - and her sex clenched at the thought. Zevran's face bore a steely expression and he slapped her a couple of times to make her stop squirming. Some part of her registered that his trousers were already bulging with his erection. Her head was beginning to spin and she gasped desperately for air. He stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth and tied it in place, releasing her throat in the process.

She breathed heavily through her nose, staring up at him. Tears stung her eyes and she was trembling. The look on his face didn't help: He looked at her like she was nothing. Less than nothing. The gag muffled her moan.

"Act like a bitch, you get fucked like one," Zevran said flatly. He flipped her over. When she tried to crawl away, he grabbed her arms, pinning her wrists to the small of her back with one hand while the other pulled at her robes and unlaced his trousers.

He lifted her hips and slammed into her without ceremony. Lying with her face pressed against the not particularly clean floor, she reflected that it would probably have hurt rather a lot if she hadn't been soaked already. As it was, it still stung a little, but he was quickly covered with her juices as he fucked her. He was brutal and spent quickly. Then he got off her ... and left her on the floor.

When she moved to push herself up, he placed a foot on her back. She realised he was rummaging with his pack, and soon he was straddling her again. She felt ropes against her wrists. He tied her hands behind her back - not the elaborate and surprisingly comfortable harness he'd made that first time back in Redcliffe, but an efficient and uncomfortably tight knot. Then he lashed her ankles together similarly.

Elena lay still, trembling. She heard him move about the room for some time, eventually flopping down on the bed. Was he just going to leave her like this? She could feel his seed seeping out of her, cooling and drying on her labia. Her smallclothes were tangled around her thighs. Squirming, she managed to turn so that she lay on her side. Face no longer pressed against the floor, she could look up at him. He was lounging against the wooden headboard of the bed, still wearing his trousers but not much else. A dagger in one hand, a piece of cloth in the other. He glanced at her briefly as she shuffled around on the floor, then went back to polishing the weapon. It gleamed in the golden candle light.

"What am I to do with you," he sighed after a while. "Disobedient, bad-mannered, stubborn little whore. Maybe I should send you to Tevinter for training? The slaves there know their place."

She trembled at his words. This was but a game, of course, but they still hurt. The fact that it was a game allowed her to enjoy the pain. She still didn't understand why or how this worked, but it did. She rested her temple against the floor, feeling a few tears run down her face. She sniffled pathetically.

"Maybe you're more trouble than you're worth. I could give you away. I have a friend, a pirate ... she likes toys with a bit of spirit." Once again, Zevran glanced at her, smirking slightly. "She would love to play with you."

Elena 'mmph'ed through her gag; it was soaked with saliva. She gave him a pleading look.

He swung his legs off the bed and looked down on her, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Now, now. I'm sure you're all full of regret already. And I'm by no means impossible. Here," he said and grabbed her arm, pulling her into a kneeling position. She wobbled slightly and he steadied her between his knees. He placed the flat of the dagger against her cheek. "I'm going to remove the gag. You will be quiet, or I will cut you. And then, you are going to work for forgiveness, yes?"

She stared at him, eyes wide and fearful. He cut the gag loose, then freed her hair from its bun and collected it behind her head, using it like a handle. He flashed a dangerous half-grin. "Let's see how deep you can take it."

 

"Thank you," Elena mumbled hoarsely. "I needed that."

Zevran chortled gently and guided her into relaxing against him. At some point during the evening's activities he'd managed to get her clothes off, and he pulled a blanket over them to protect her from the cool night air. "Next time you need me to break you down, you have but to ask. No need to slap me."

"Worked though, didn't it?" She grinned wryly. Her hair was tousled and her skin still flushed. There was dried semen on her cheek and her lower lip was swollen where he'd bit it.

His chuckle turned into a laugh. "True enough." He brought his thumb over her cheek, rubbing at the stain. He knew bruises would be starting to form in various places on her body, if she hadn't decided to heal them - but she rarely did, these days. He wondered if it was because she enjoyed being marked this way, or if she just didn't want to expend magic on healing such minor injuries. It wasn't as though anyone would know some of her bruises came not from being knocked over by darkspawn or assaulted by brigands, but from his own teeth and fingers.

"Do you really know a pirate?"

"Of course I do. I killed her husband, in fact. She was most grateful. Ah, good times," he sighed, grinning.

Elena giggled. "Huh! You'll have to tell me that story sometime." She nuzzled his chest, closing her eyes. "Mmh. Should get some sleep. Promised Alistair we'd look for his sister tomorrow."

Zevran nodded absent-mindedly. He was thinking about the attack that morning, and the weird conversation with Wynne. About the future, and things unsaid. This was as good a time as any to bring it up, he supposed. It wasn't as though he was proposing or anything - he merely wanted to know his options, as it were. "Elena..." he began quietly.

But she was already snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story should be moving slightly quicker for a while now. Need to get this damn thing finished so I can play Inquisition. And then maybe actually do some proper large-scale editing to make the story a tad bit more ... readable.


	18. Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroine learns that she's really manipulative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff ahoy!
> 
> One of the reasons I enjoy writing fanfic is that it gives me an opportunity to explain weird things that occur in the original story. I've already dealt with the fact that the Warden's constantly asking everyone intrusive questions. Another thing I've been thinking about: Isn't it _super weird_ the way the Warden's giving everyone gifts to buy their adoration?

"This is a magical forest, right?"

"The walking, talking trees did seem to give that impression, yes," Shale observed drily.

Elena giggled. Ignoring the jibe, Alistair continued, "Well I was just thinking, that might explain why it doesn't seem to be very ... wintry."

The golem looked around. "Well, what do you know," she said, gravelly voice raised in surprise. " _It_ may actually have made a relevant observation."

They were walking back to camp after a brief foray into the woods to fetch water. Elena felt strangely elated. They had managed to save the Dalish clan and the (now former) werewolves. Out of all the strange and dangerous paths their quest had taken them, this had been by far the easiest, and the resolution had not demanded more than the end of a life that should have ended long ago, willingly given.

Now she looked around, noting again how incredibly beautiful she found this place. "You're right," she said. "It's like the forest doesn't care what season it is. Look, there's flowers!" She ran off into the underbrush, just a few yards, to where she had spotted a clump of flowers glowing white in the dappled shade. Their sweet scent made her giddy with happiness and she started gathering them up. "These must be Andraste's grace!"

"I think there's still blood on your robes from fighting werewolves, and now you're picking flowers." Alistair was shaking his head at her with a wry grin as she returned to the path.

Shale snorted. "It has very strange priorities, indeed."

"There's nothing in the Grey Warden vows about losing your sense of wonder or appreciation for beauty," Elena sniffed. "I'm gonna give these to Leliana."

 

"Leliana, look! I found these, I want you to have them."

Leliana blinked. In Elena's outstretched hand was a small bouquet of white flowers. "Flowers? For me?" She gasped. "They're beautiful!" She accepted them, gingerly wrapping her fingers around the delicate stems.

"These are your mother's flowers, aren't they?" Elena asked. Her face wore that endearingly earnest expression that made her look very much like Alistair - if Alistair had been tiny, dark-haired and female.

"These were her favourite." She smiled and brought the flowers to her nose, closing her eyes briefly as she enjoyed their scent. "Oh... I haven't seen these in such a long time. They smell just like mother used to. Thank you. Thank you so much for remembering!"

Elena scuffed her feet. "So ... you really like them?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Leliana laughed. She was already thinking of how she would hang them to dry so that she could keep the petals with her. She would put them in a little cloth bag, she thought, and keep them in her pack so that her clothes would always smell of flowers.

"Yes. Right! I'm glad, then." Venturing a smile, Elena shifted from foot to foot, looking as though she was about to turn and leave.

Leliana cocked her head. "Something the matter?"

Elena hesitated, then sat down on a log, and Leliana joined her. "Zev was a bit strange earlier," she said after a little while. "I gave him these gloves I found ... they were also supposed to remind him of his mother, actually. That's a bit funny, come to think of it."

"A bit," she chuckled, nodding. "So - did he like them?"

"I think he did ... but he was all weird about it. At first he seemed almost offended. I don't understand, I've given him gifts before..."

Leliana hummed. "Maybe he feels like you're trying to ... pay him?" She tilted her head, studying Elena's face. The Warden had picked up some moss and was busy tearing it apart, her robe already covered with litter, but now she paused and gave Leliana a confused look.

"Pay him?"

"Well ... here's the thing." She cleared her throat, giving herself a little time to phrase what she was about to say. When she spoke, her voice was firm, but she tried to put as much kindness into it as she could. "It's very nice that you give us gifts like this. But you have to realise it can come off as a bit ... manipulative. I've seen you done it a few times now - you listen to us talk, you figure out what we like, and get us gifts. It's nice, but ... yes. It could definitely be seen as manipulative."

"I ... oh. I guess it is." Elena looked down, letting go of the remnants of the moss. She flicked pieces of it off her robe, one by one. "I mean ... I do it because I want you to like me. I'm not sure how else to show people I want to be their friend."

Leliana blinked, shaking her head slightly in confusion. "Sure you do! You're kind and trusting, and you always give people a chance to prove themselves."

"But ... No, I don't get it."

Elena's brow was crinkled with a small frown, her lips pursed. Leliana sighed gently. Sometimes, she got the feeling that Elena always thought herself as being on the outside, looking at everyone through some invisible barrier, even when that wasn't true. It was as though the girl thought there was some strange magic to human interaction that she hadn't quite figured out, even though she was surrounded by people who doted on her quite by their own free will.

"Did you not have a lot of friends at the Circle?" she inquired softly.

"Sure. It took a while though," Elena answered easily. "The other kids were scared of me at first. I kept setting things on fire, and there were ... they heard things about me. It got better but they still thought I was, I dunno, I think they thought I believed I was better than them. Because I was. I mean, I was better at magic. It always came easy to me, and I studied a lot."

"But you made friends eventually?"

"Yeah. I started helping them out with their own studies. Doing favours. Once I put my mind to it, making friends wasn't that hard. I figured out what they wanted or needed, and then I figured out a way to give it to them."

Leliana laughed. "I'm sorry, Elena, but ... that is _very_ manipulative. I mean, it's like taken straight from my bard training!"

"I guess," Elena said and flashed a sheepish grin. Then she turned to face her properly, face once more set in that earnest expression. "I really don't mean to be manipulative though. I just ... I just wanted to make Zev happy. And you, with the flowers."

"Don't worry about it. You made me very happy. And I'm sure Zevran liked those gloves more than he let on."

 

Night claimed the woods while the Warden and her companions were still camped in the outskirts. They gathered round the campfire, sharing a meal and chatting amongst each other. Even Morrigan joined, feeling unusually amicable. Their stay in the forest had been interesting. Animals here were of a much different sort than the ones in the wilds, and spirits were ever present. There was much to be learned, here. She had resolved to come back here at some point, when she could.

"So you've gathered an army," Oghren was saying. "What's next?"

"We go to Redcliffe," Elena said. Then her eyes met Morrigan's. "By ways of the Korcari wilds. We need to confront Flemeth."

Morrigan's heart thumped heavily. It had been quite some time since she had told Elena about what she had found in the grimoire. The Warden had seemed disturbed and unsure of what to say, so Morrigan had tried her best to put it out of her mind. Perhaps return to the topic at a later time. But here Elena was, having already decided. She smiled gratefully.

Alistair, unsurprisingly, did not seem overjoyed. "What for?"

"She's planning something that will kill Morrigan. I don't want that," Elena said simply. Once again, Morrigan sent her quiet thanks across the fire. No need to get into the details.

"Is this really ... I mean, is it necessary? We have a war to fight," Alistair said. He gave Morrigan a glance. She wondered if there was suspicion in his eyes, or if she was imagining things.

It was no secret that she cared little for him, but she thought by now at least he would have stopped imagining that she was planning on killing them in their sleep. He'd made friends with the assassin who had _actually_ been out to kill them, after all - but _her_ , he refused to trust, despite the fact that she had stood by them since the very start of their journey. However reluctantly she had joined them, she had never once betrayed them.

She straightened, arching an eyebrow at him. "'Twas apparently necessary to find your sister," she said coolly.

Alistair gave a curt laugh. "My sister may have turned out to be a gold-digging sourface, but she's no ancient witch-demon-thingy of legend."

"Alistair, how about we split up?" Elena said quickly, before Morrigan could respond. She glanced around the camp, giving each of her companions a measuring look. "I take, hmm, I take Shale, Zevran and Leliana into the wilds to find Flemeth, and the rest of you go straight to Redcliffe. We'll meet up there."

"Wait, Morrigan won't go with you?" Alistair glared at Morrigan. "Too scared to face your own mother?"

"Did you perhaps not hear the part where she is planning to _kill me_?"

"Settle down, children," Wynne said wearily. "We were having such a nice evening. We can deal with this tomorrow."

Elena rolled her eyes at them. "Alistair, it'll be fine. Trust me, alright?" She smiled at him, and his expression cleared somewhat. Morrigan shook her head silently, amazed at how Elena played him. He followed her like a mabari. An unusually stupid mabari.

"So," Morrigan said and turned towards Wynne, abruptly deciding not to bait mabari-man any more. Elena was doing her a huge favour - she thought perhaps, just for tonight, she'd try to be civil. By way of thanks. She smiled at the Circle mage, hoping it looked genuine. "I hear you found your old student?"

Wynne's eyes widened somewhat and she hesitated a few moments before she opened her mouth to answer, as though she was trying to decide whether Morrigan was truly interested or just looking for ammunition. _Fair enough_ , Morrigan thought with a sigh. _Cannot blame you_. She listened as Wynne began to tell them about Aneirin, but her eyes strayed once more across the fire, meeting Elena's level gaze. Morrigan nodded minutely, and they exchanged a smile.


	19. The swamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroine makes a detour through a swamp, and Zevran finds out she's even kinkier than he thought.

While Alistair and the others made their way west toward Redcliffe, the Dalish clan provided Elena and her chosen companions with an escort through the Brecilian passage. They skirted the southernmost part of the Southron hills until the ground dipped and turned ever more swampy. "This is where we leave you," Mithra said at the edge of the wetlands. "I wish you luck. If it is true that you are seeking to confront Asha'Bellanar, you will need it."

Elena thanked the elf, who gave them a respectful nod before turning back the way they'd come, her two hunters in tow.

"Well, this is cheerful," Leliana observed with a wry smile as they ventured into the murky wilds.

Dark trees stood in clumps everywhere there was higher ground, icy pools of water glinting between them. The ground was treacherous and hard to read, buoyant tufts of moss giving way for one after carrying another across. It was clear there was no staying dry, here. No taking shortcuts, either - there was no way they could pull Shale out if she was swallowed by the swamp.

"My boots are going to be a complete mess," Zevran grunted. He had thought the rest of Ferelden muddy, but that really had been nothing compared to this. Still, while journeying through a swamp was definitely nowhere near the top of his list of favourite things to do, at least he hadn't been left behind this time.

"At least there are no pigeons," Shale said.

"And it might be cold, but at least there are no mosquitoes now," Elena added. "Most of the bites had cleared up by the time we got to Lothering, but you should've seen us before. Not a pretty sight..."

The bard sighed. "Well, the Chantry does teach us to seek solace in small comforts."

Travel was surprisingly swift. Zevran noted that Elena, Shale and Leliana worked together quite seamlessly, and took his place in the group with some relief. Initially, he had been worried that Shale would make too much noise and attract the attention of the scattered groups of darkspawn they were trying to avoid, but the soft ground cushioned the golem's footsteps nicely. And, there was the way she kept watch as they slept, untiring and uncomplaining, as well as carried half of their supplies. He actually found himself both liking and admiring the golem. It helped to know that she had once been a person, he supposed.

Elena was the only one of them who had been in the swamp before, but she seemed confident that she would find the way. Perhaps she had some magic that helped her, or Morrigan had given her a map - he did not ask.

 

"Sometimes I wonder if the painted elf perhaps has a squirrel or two among his ancestors."

Elena's eyes were following Zevran's progress intently. He was climbing swiftly, soon reaching the uppermost branches of the large tree that crowned the hillock that was to be their camp for the night - provided they were reasonably safe. "Squirrel? I was thinking he moves like a cat," Elena said.

"Indeed. I have noted that humans tend to consider cats quite attractive," Shale said. There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Mm," she replied absent-mindedly, still watching Zevran. "Hey, d'you reckon cats can smell with their whiskers?"

The golem chuckled. "You ask the strangest questions!"

Elena smiled at the pronoun used. Somehow it felt like an honour every time Shale deigned to call her anything other than 'it'. She tore her eyes from Zevran and gave Shale a smile. "And you don't judge me for them, which is why I actually ask you. Usually I just think them and then move on."

"Well, I suppose I had better answer, then." Shale appeared to give the matter some consideration. Then she shook her head and said, "Cats sometimes kill birds. That is all _I_ need to know. Perhaps you should ask the qunari - it seems to like cats."

Zevran was moving down the tree now, and Elena had to admit he moved rather more gracefully than cats usually did when trying to climb backwards. She thought he must have scaled a few buildings in his time; entering and leaving the houses of his marks through unconventional means seemed a very assassin thing to do. It didn't matter much to her where he'd acquired the skill, watching him was still ... very pleasant. And during this detour, it was about as intimate as it was likely to get between them.

"Coast is clear," he said after he jumped the last few feet and landed lightly on the ground, wiping his hands. "No darkspawn as far as I can see, anyway. Uh ... What are you smiling at?"

She cleared her throat. She hadn't realised she  _was_  smiling. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

 

"It's ... it's nothing really."

"No, it's definitely something. I know _something_ when I see it."

Elena pouted slightly, her cheeks turning pink in the morning light. "It's embarrassing." She refused to meet his eyes, scanning their surroundings instead.

Zevran grinned, placing a finger under her chin and turning her face towards his. "Which is why you're going to tell me," he said. They hadn't had many opportunities for intimacy while trudging through the swamp, given how they spread their bedrolls on the ground without tents to give them some privacy. At least he could have a little fun watching Elena squirm. "You've been blushing all morning. Now we have a few moments alone..."

She sighed, and indeed did squirm. "Well... I had this dream. About you ... and Morrigan."

"Oh ... I'm sorry?"

"No, that's not..." Her blush deepened and she looked down.

"What happened in the dream?"

She took a deep breath and looked around. They were still alone, Leliana having scouted ahead to find a good route and Shale standing some ways off up a small hill, keeping watch. Apparently satisfied they wouldn't be overheard, Elena cleared her throat and mumbled, "I was ... trapped, somehow. I'm not sure where I was or anything. Only that I was powerless. I couldn't move. Only ... watch. And you and Morrigan were... you were on a bed, maybe? Or something. It's a bit hazy."

Zevran chuckled. He wasn't too surprised - however rational she tried to be about it, the idea that she wouldn't be the slightest bit jealous seemed rather unlikely. Everyone had insecurities, after all. He ran his thumb over her cheek, tweaking her chin gently. "Elena, I can tell you with some confidence I won't be touching her again."

"No ... you misunderstand. It wasn't a nightmare. I ... Ugh." Elena squirmed again. Her brow was creased and her mouth pursed into an embarrassed grimace. "Can we just ... talk about something else?" she muttered.

"Hmm. No, I think not," he said, smirking. "You dreamt of me being intimate with Morrigan and it was not a nightmare? This, I want to hear." The smirk turned into a grin and he fixated the fidgeting girl with his eyes.

Elena once more glanced around, then pointed her eyes at the ground. The blush had spread from her cheeks to her ears and throat. "I ... it was ... kind of exciting?" She spoke in a hurried whisper. "I mean, it was scary too. I was scared that you had forgotten about me... but I knew you hadn't. It was like you and her were ... putting on a show. For me."

Eyes widening somewhat in surprise, Zevran kept smiling. He leaned closer to her, close enough that she would feel his breath on his ear as he spoke. "So ... let me get this straight. You had a dream in which you enjoyed being forced to watch me with another woman - yes?"

She glanced sidways at him, swallowed, and nodded briefly.

His lips brushed her ear. "And now that you think about it ... it turns you on? The thought of helplessly being set aside as I take my pleasure with someone else - it excites you?"

Elena was very still, but he heard the minute gasp escaping her lips. He waited patiently and eventually she squeaked, "Yes."

 _And they think_ I'm _the depraved one_. He chortled. "Oh, Elena, my filthy little pet," he said fondly. "Come here." He drew her into a kiss, and she whimpered quietly against his lips, quivering as the nervous tension transformed into a rather different kind of tension.

Leliana's voice interrupted them. "Hey, I-- whoops. Sorry. Do you want some time alone?" There was the tiniest hint of sarcasm edging her words, and she made a gesture encompassing the surrounding swamp as if to point out that this was probably the least sexy environment they had ever found themselves in.

"No, we were just about done here," Zevran said and released Elena, who ducked her head with a flustered cough. He grinned lazily, already planning on just how he could work this new fantasy of hers into their intimate adventures.

"Good. Elena was right, Flemeth's hut is a little way beyond that rise."

Elena cleared her throat, smoothing out her robes as she stood. She was still blushing, but her eyes were clear, and Zevran recognised the set of her jaw. She was steeling herself for something necessary but unpleasant. The Warden said, "Let's get this over with."


	20. Orlesian oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein some stuff happens and the author is too tired to come up with a proper summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves, more smut incoming.
> 
> By the way: As anyone with any experience with BDSM will definitely have noticed by now, the smutty parts of this story are pure BDSM fluff. It is a depiction of a perfect BDSM relationship with an uncannily empathetic top and an endlessly biddable bottom. This is entirely on purpose. It's a fantasy, after all. :p
> 
> On a completely different note, I realised I had totally forgotten about Teagan last time they were in Redcliffe. Just pretend he was hovering somewhere.
> 
> Finally: In this part and some upcoming ones there are a few small changes compared to canon, in terms of order and timing of events. But nothing too jarring I'd think.

"Oh, thank the Maker, you're alright," Alistair gasped quietly as he squeezed Elena tight. It wasn't until the knot of worry in his stomach suddenly unclenched that he realised it had been there. Though it hadn't been half as bad as the last time she'd run off without him, the fear that she might not return had lurked in his mind constantly.

But here she was, Zevran and Leliana in tow, Shale hulking like a mountain behind them in the midst of the courtyard. They were all quite filthy, but he found himself overjoyed to see them alive.

Elena tapped him on the shoulder and wheezed, "Air?"

"Eh, air is overrated." He laughed, releasing her. "I'm glad you're back. Arl Eamon was _not_ happy that I returned without you, let me tell you."

Elena shrugged, a half-cocked smile on her lips. "Well, here I am. A bit wetter and muddier, but none the worse for wear. Shale's grumpy though." She looked over her shoulder at the last bit, winking at Shale.

"The swamp witch's mother chipped my favourite crystals," the golem sulked.

"We've got extra in the supplies, you'll be good as new," Elena said soothingly.

They entered the castle, walking as they talked. Alistair said, "So, I'm guessing this means the witch of the wilds is no more?"

"Yes. Well, Morrigan said this probably wouldn't be the end for Flemeth, but ... that particular body is dead, at least. She turned into a dragon on us, though. That was a bit ... unexpected."

Alistair led Elena to an empty guest room after seeing the others to the barracks, and she raised her eyebrows at him as he sent a passing servant to pour a bath and arrange for dinner for the Warden and her companions. "Where's the Arl, anyway? You're walking around like you own the place," she commented.

"He went to Denerim a while ago, and the Arlessa went to visit relatives with Connor. Bann Teagan told me to make myself at home while waiting for you," Alistair said. He smiled wryly, leaning against the wall. "It's not half bad, actually, having people do what I say."

Elena gave him a calculating glance and he straightened, clearing his throat. He hated when people did that; staring at him as if he was some sort of livestock or tool. Looking him over, taking measures - judging. He knew what it was they saw, it was always reflected in their eyes. Except Elena's right now - they were simply clear. That, somehow, made him even more uncomfortable. It had been easier when everyone just waved him off as an oaf and a joker.

"Anyway," he continued, ignoring the momentary discomfort, "Teagan is down in the village I think, but he should be back soon."

"Alright. And Eamon's calling the Landsmeet?"

"Yes. He said it'll be a while before they'll be gathered and ready to convene." He watched as she quickly made herself at home in the room, studied the briskness of her movements, the slight frown as she peeled off her mud-caked shoes. There hadn't been much by ways of levity in the wilds, he supposed, even with Leliana and Zevran for company. At least it seemed they were nearing the end of their journey, even though the most difficult part was still ahead of them. "He expects us to show up in Denerim as soon as we can, to prepare. He has an estate there, should be every bit as comfortable as here."

Elena nodded. "I just need one night's rest. We'll head for Denerim tomorrow."

"Right. Well, the cook here's excellent, as you know. The others will want to see you as well. Let's make a nice night of it before we head to the city to end one war and start another..."

 

Judging by the way he looked at her as they ate, Zevran seemed to have similar plans - albeit probably of a different nature. The companions were in a good mood, conversation ranging high and low, with much jocular teasing. But the elf mostly watched Elena through partly lidded eyes, a small knowing smile playing on his lips. Every time she met that meaningful gaze, she had to fight a blush.

As they finished eating she brazenly invited him to her room, ignoring the shocked gasp of the elven servant clearing the table. _Let them talk_. She grinned to herself.

"Oh get a room, you two," Alistair huffed, thumping her shoulder lightly with his knuckles.

Wynne chuckled. "Isn't that exactly what they're doing?"

"Well ... yeah ... but-"

"Do not tease the poor man so, he is simply trying to keep up," Morrigan said lightly. Elena glanced at her, noting that she was sporting a smile that could almost be described as ... warm?

She had caught up with Morrigan before they sat down to eat, telling her of the confrontation with Flemeth and giving her the grimoire, and she had never seen her so relieved, so happy. Morrigan had even called her 'sister'. Now, the witch seemed positively relaxed, participating in various conversations and displaying little of the acid wit that normally characterised her interactions with the rest of the companions. Elena smiled, deciding she had done the right thing in helping her.

Alistair stared at Morrigan, lifting his hands in shock. "Wh... uh. What? Did Morrigan just defend me against Wynne? Is this a dream? Are we all in the Fade?"

Morrigan's smile widened and she leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as she stared fixedly at Alistair. "Oh, 'tis nothing to worry about. Merely keeping you on your toes."

Elena laughed, rising from her seat. "Perhaps you should take your own advice, Alistair," she said and winked at him. Morrigan gave a loud snort of laughter.

"Ah! Don't leave me here with her!" He grabbed hold of her sleeve, giving her an overly dramatic pleading look that made her giggle. "She's planning something gruesome, I know it!"

"O-oh, you'd rather join us, would you?" Zevran grinned wolfishly at him as he came to stand beside Elena. She felt his arm slip around her waist and almost twitched. A realisation came, that this was probably his first public display of affection - not counting the times they had been caught making out when they had thought they were alone. Uncertain what this meant, she filed the thought away for later and focused instead on Alistair's stammering.

"Uh. No. Er. You ... have a good night. I'm just ... going to sit here and ... drink my beer. Sten! Pass me the beer."

 

"Lie on your belly and relax."

Zevran hummed quietly as he straddled Elena's thighs. He ran his hands over her pale skin and she closed her eyes, sighing softly.

"This place is surprisingly well stocked. Smell this," he said and uncorked a vial of oil, hovering it near her nose.

She smiled vaguely. "That's nice, what is it?"

"An orlesian massage oil," he answered. He left out the part where he had found the bottle in the Arlessa's boudoir, having snooped through it out of idle curiousity while waiting for dinner. Grinning slightly to himself, he let a few drops of the fragrant oil slide down the groove of her spine.

He took his time, gently smoothing the oil over her skin, adding more as needed. When he'd warmed her up, he began kneading her flesh. She had become so tense lately, shoulders always drawn up as if she was expecting something to attack her from behind at any moment. Not an irrational worry in her case, to be sure. Now he did his best to loosen her knotted muscles, working carefully as she whimpered with pain whenever he prodded her too hard.

Slowly he felt her relaxing in his hands. He worked her back, shoulders and arms, even massaging the palms of her hands. Then he moved down, giving her bottom, legs and feet the same treatment. Elena's breathing was deep and even, interrupted at times by soft moans or squeaks when he acidentally did something that hurt or tickled.

Having finished with her feet, he slid his hands up her legs until they reached her buttocks. He had already given them a bit of a massage, but now he lingered, kneading them softly and letting his fingers slide deeper into the crack, spreading her slightly. He smiled slightly as she tensed up, clenching as if to protect herself. This was the one spot he had left unexplored, and she reacted as virgins will. "Relax," he said quietly, the firmness of his voice making it an order.

He reached for the vial, spilling some of its contents at the top of her cleft. She whimpered, and when his fingers caught up to the oil she squirmed slightly. "Would you deny me what is mine, pet?" he asked lightly, hands still on her ass. Elena tensed for a moment, then gave her head a quick shake and hid her face in a pillow. Underneath his hands, her muscles twitched and then relaxed. He chuckled gently; she was trying so hard for him.

She whimpered as he spread her cheeks. Her arms were twitching, and he knew she was fighting the urge to protect herself. Suddenly, he felt inordinately proud of her. This was the first time anyone had seen her like this, touched her like this, and she was being so brave, so trusting. "Good girl," he said warmly, and she whimpered again.

 

Elena had wanted to protest. Some part of her insisted this was shameful and dirty. Another part of her wondered where she had picked that idea up, and how it could possibly be any more shameful or dirty than any of the other things she had let him do. The voices in her mind were quickly drowned out by the sensation of his finger pressing against her pucker, slick with oil and pushing slowly inside.

She whimpered again, clenching hard. He stopped. His free hand was stroking her soothingly, wandering over her buttocks, her thighs, the small of her back. When she relaxed once more, he immediately slipped his finger deeper inside her. The feeling was strange, alien, like nothing she could have imagined.

"Good girl," he repeated, and she felt the wave of pleasure that always accompanied those words. This was, she imagined, what drowning would be like. A feeling of being pulled beneath the surface, of an all-encompassing pressure weighing her down and holding her there: beneath him. He was moving his finger in and out of her now, and the more she relaxed the more it began to feel less strange and more ... pleasurable. She moaned quietly, aware that she was blushing hotly. For all they had been through, it was still embarrassing for her to face up to the idea that she enjoyed being invaded in such a fashion.

Zevran picked up on it - of course he would. "You're enjoying this, hm?" he said. His voice was husky and carried a hint of amusement. "I thought you might."

He added a finger and there was some discomfort, causing her to gasp and clench around him. But he kept at it. Every time she clenched, he stopped, remaining still until she managed to get her muscles under control, and then he started stretching her again.

She soon disappeared into a fog of submissive pleasure. It was impossible to tell whether she was enjoying the sensation of his probing, or merely the feeling of having the last private part of her exposed and claimed, or if it were a bit of both. And she didn't care. Time passed, she had no idea how much, and he kept working at her, slowly and patiently preparing her for what some more alert part of her mind understood was coming. Then, there he was, leaning over her, his cock sliding along the cleft of her ass, quickly getting covered in oil. She could feel his hair tickling the back of her neck.

"I'm going to fuck you now. You don't have to do anything - just lie still, relax while I use you," he whispered. "Tell me if it hurts, and I will slow down. But don't imagine you have a choice in this."

She moaned in response, and then he was inside her. His cock stretched her wider than his fingers, but it wasn't as rough. She winced and whimpered faintly, more from discomfort than pain. Just like before, he stopped when she clenched. Slowly he rocked himself inside her, slowly he pulled out, and then pushed again. He lay on top of her, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, and it occurred to her that she really could do nothing but lie there and receive. His hands had found her wrists and wrapped around them gently, and she could feel him breathe heavily next to her ear. Again, she moaned.

 

This had been far easier than he had thought it would be. Which was a good thing, Zevran reflected as he slowly pulled his hips back and then equally slowly thrust into her again. While of course being absolutely excellent, there were limits to his self-control. But she lay relaxed and whimpering underneath him, receptive as ever, and when she hadn't shown any sign of discomfort for some time he gingerly picked up the pace.

He was drunk on her. Her scent, reaching her even through the fragrance of the oil now massaged into her skin. The sounds she made, the little moans and whimpers. The way her cool white skin turned pink and red with pleasure, radiating heat. And her trust. He was absolutely drunk on how she would just hand herself over, letting him have his way with her body without question or explanation.

Oh, he had had so many lovers. Some had thrown themselves at him, some took convincing. All had had their own ideas of what he could give them. _She_ only wanted him to show her the way. Despite their circumstances, despite their differences, despite his nature and hers, she trusted him, and allowed his will to become hers. It was intoxicating. He moaned, closing his eyes.

He whispered to her, weaving intricate lies of how he was using her, how her pleasure mattered nothing to him. She thrilled beneath him, her moans choked like sobs. Her trembling made her clench and he stifled a groan as she squeezed him. He knew how she felt now, both full and empty at the same time. Longing desperately for him to touch him. He grinned, telling her how maybe, just maybe, if she was good, he would deign to touch her. After he was done, of course. His thrusts came faster, she was arching against him now, urging him on with body and voice alike, her passage open and yielding. His hips slapped into her oiled ass with every thrust, his chest sliding over her back. It wasn't long before he reached his limit, and he buried his face against her neck as let himself go, finishing with a quick few thrusts until he spasmed, entire body tensing as his cock throbbed inside her.

Easing himself out and off of her, he relaxed at her side, stroking her back while he recovered. Elena turned her head to face him, giving him a breathless smile that made his own breath catch in his throat just for a moment.

Zevran swallowed. "Stay put, pet. I need to clean up," he muttered, leaving the bed just a little too quickly. When he returned from the washstand, she had rolled over, and he nudged her thighs apart to press his lips against her sex. His questing tongue had her moaning in no time, and she thrust herself against him wantonly.

She had definitely earned this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, that one got away from me too... and I'm not even a huge fan of anal. :o


	21. Change of pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Leliana's past catches up to her, Elena is anxious, and Zevran finds out about Elena's parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eamon struck me as much too mellow once you reach Denerim, and it's just weird the way Anora's woman shows up immediately. So, like I mentioned: altered pacing.

"Well, that was an interesting change of pace."

Zevran's voice and sudden appearance at her side startled Leliana out of her thoughts. She momentarily lost her footing, nearly stumbling over a tree root snaking across the path. "I'm sorry?" she said as she regained her balance.

"Did I manage to sneak up on you without even trying? You're getting lazy," he laughed. "I was speaking of the attack, back there."

"We get attacked all the time."

He chuckled. "Yes, but, usually it's darkspawn or brigands, killing indiscriminately - or someone is after the Grey Wardens, no? It's not every day someone sends assassins after _you_." He looked at her, arching an eyebrow.

"Zev, please," she sighed. "Don't make this into a joke. My past is catching up to me." She turned from him and started walking again, now more careful where she set her feet. After a moment's hesitation, he caught up to her, but did not speak for some time. And so they went in silence. Their travel companions were some ways behind and ahead of them, spread out along the narrow forest path they had taken to avoid the darkspawn-infested ruins of Lothering. Left beside the path somewhere behind them were the mangled bodies of most of Marjolaine's assassins.

Most, but not all. It had been such a close call. The way Elena fought these days, Leliana counted herself lucky that she had managed to get through to her before she had electrocuted the leader. And then they wouldn't have known. What then? Marjolaine would send more, of course ... eventually, she would come herself.

"I'm sorry," Zevran said eventually. "I suppose, if anyone should have some idea what it's like, it would be me."

"I suppose." She managed a smile. So Marjolaine wasn't going to let her slip away - at least she didn't have to face this alone. Strange ways, her vision had taken her, and strange friends she had made, but she didn't regret one bit. Not even having her heart broken. She cleared her throat. "What about the Crows, will they come for you?" It was either change the track of conversation, or be mired in this introspective gloom all evening.

"Eventually," Zevran sighed.

"You realise you will have to tell her the truth about why you are here, some day."

Leliana smirked as an expression of shock briefly flitted over his face. _Gotcha_.

"What do you know?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

She laughed. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Lies have been part of my trade for a long time. You're a very good liar, Zevran, but I always sensed that something didn't add up. There are reasons for why you came to Ferelden that you haven't told me. And, judging by your reaction, I was right to assume you haven't told _her_ , either."

He gave her an appraising stare. For once there were absolutely no sexual overtones, and that somehow made it far more intimate. It was the sort of look Marjolaine used to give her: He was judging her professionally, the only one in their company who had any ability to do so, and he seemed to approve of what he saw. It thrilled her, and that in turn made her uncomfortable. She frowned, pushing the feeling down. This was a part of her life she had left behind. She would lend her skills to Elena's quest, but she had no wish to be a bard again. And once she had confronted Marjolaine, the past would stay in the past.

"You are a dangerous woman, Leliana." Zevran smiled. "And you are right. I will ... think about it. And - if you would allow me, I would like to join you when you seek out Marjolaine."

"You would? Why?"

"Because you will need friends by your side. And, because I would very much like to see the woman who forged a weapon as beautiful and deadly as you. She must be ... extraordinary, yes?"

She rolled her eyes, giggling at his mischievous grin. "Just don't try to seduce her. She would eat you for breakfast," she said, bopping him on the shoulder.

" _Really?_ " Zevran put on his most lascivious face. "Which part of me?" He winked.

Leliana laughed again, a real belly laugh that forced her to stop and catch her breath. The idea of Zevran in Marjolaine's claws was unreasonably hilarious. Or perhaps, she just desperately needed a laugh. "All of you. She would clean her teeth with the splinters of your bones!" She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, not quite certain if it was the laughter that had brought it forth, or if it had been hiding there all along. "Anyway, yes. You can come. Thank you, Zev - I appreciate it."

 

Upon their arrival in Denerim, they were immediately swept into Arl Eamon's flurry of preparations for the Landsmeet. Elena was included in political discussions, endless sessions of strategical planning, meetings with allies, evaluations of who would support them and who wouldn't and who might given the right bit of enticement or pressure, and all she could think of was her lover's words: _In truth, what I wanted was to die._

It ended during yet another meeting she hadn't asked for or agreed to but been included in simply because she was somehow both the figurehead and the doer, the symbol and the tool of this grand scheme of theirs, even though she had little interest in the machinations of running a country. (Was this how Alistair felt?) It threatened to become interminable, and she snapped: "Enough. You said yourself it will take days, maybe weeks before all the nobles have gathered. These discussions are running in circles. I'll do what I can, but I'm not going to sit here and have my ears talked off. It's been days since I saw the sun! I'm going out, see if I can do something useful or at least fun."

"But ... you're hunted," Arl Eamon stammered. "You can't just go traipsing around the city with Loghain's hired swords crawling all over the place, looking for you!"

"I don't _traipse_. And I won't go alone," she huffed. "Also, I had some armor fitted when we arrived, should be about done by now. They're looking for a little girl dressed like a mage - staff and all. Not a boy with sword and armor."

The Arl sighed. "Alright. I'm sorry, it is easy to forget how priorities shift over the years ... you are young, and the young are not meant to be cooped up like this. Come to think of it, there is much that could be done to further our cause that you may be far better equipped to deal with than I. We need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here. The sooner we can find them, the sooner we can turn them to our advantage..."

_You once asked why I wanted to leave the Crows..._

"Do you even know how to use armor? Or a sword?" Alistair asked her as they left Eamon's study, leaving the Arl somewhat disgruntled by Elena's impertinence, but seemingly satisfied that they would make themselves useful. Alistair himself was visibly relieved - as the main bargaining chip and proposed future ruler, his distress had become ever more obvious since they arrived.

Elena shrugged. "I'll figure it out. I was given some pointers by this spirit in the Brecilian ruins. Apparently there used to be something called arcane warriors among the elves once. I thought I'd resurrect the idea."

"Hmm. Come to think of it, you can't really be a proper hero without an enchanted sword," Alistair grinned. "And we've got plenty stashed away. How about we practise later? Can't have you poking people's eyes out."

She smiled at him, grateful. Then, again:

_In truth, what I wanted was to die._

The words pounded in her head, chafed at her. He had sprung them on her on their first night in Denerim, after they had made good use of the four-poster bed in her suite. (The Arl had not been amused by her growing indiscretion concerning Zevran. She hadn't cared.) At the time, she had felt touched and happy that he would finally confide in her. But now the thought just wouldn't leave her alone. He had come here to die, and she had foiled his plan. He had had so many opportunities, since - why hadn't he taken them?

She was angry. He had indicated in so many subtle ways that she had given him a new direction in life, a new purpose, but he would never speak plainly. And now, after all they had been through, he suddenly saw fit to tell her she was to have been his executioner. His little suicide-helper. She knew very well that her anger wasn't rational - if she had killed him back then, she wouldn't have cared. He would have been but one more body left in her wake, nothing more than another gruesome and terrible testament to what the Blight had made her into. That didn't help. The thought of him dying at her hands was still unbearable, far worse than the thought of him carrying out the assassination had ever been.

It was all becoming so complicated. It wasn't supposed to be complicated, not with him.

Alistair made a sort of questioning noise and she looked up at him, realising suddenly that she had been stomping down the hall like an angry child, sighing with irritation. "Uh. Sorry, got stuff on my mind." She smiled sheepishly. "Let's go have a look at those swords. Then to Wade's for the armor."

"You really think it'll be done?"

"Should be. He had most of it already finished, fitted for some noble's kid years ago. They never picked it up. He just needed to rework some pieces a little." She turned a corner, making for the storeroom where they had put their by now quite ample supplies. "Tonight, I think it's about time we help Leliana hunt down her bard-master. You game?"

He ruffled her hair, making her grumble, but she didn't bat his hand away. She supposed with how she had been acting, she really had been asking for it. Alistair smiled. "Always, sis."

 

"I don't have the parts."

"That's..." Zevran frowned. He shook his head slightly, a bemused smile on his lips. "But you have the parts. I am in fact intimately familiar with all your parts. They are most definitely there!"

Elena groaned and rolled over on her side, turning away from him. "See, I told you it'd get weird." The line of her hip made a beautiful curve, and he did appreciate the view, if not her mood. The only thing that marred it was the large bruise on her shoulder, caused by the immense warhammer of one of Marjolaine's bodyguards. It was fading already, sped by healing magic, but was still an angry greenish yellow. He tried not to think of what her shoulder would have looked like, had she not decided to start wearing armor.

He cleared his throat. "I meant no offense. Would you mind explaining?"

"Look, I've..." She sighed deeply. "I've explored my body with magic. And the bodies of others. I know what I look like inside, and what I should look like. I don't have the _internal_ parts. Like, you know, a womb. And such. My insides aren't shaped like other women's. There's just ... nothing there that resembles what I understand to be the baby-making parts. That's why I don't bleed."

"Oh," he replied, feeling rather non-plussed. He had thought she was using some spell or herb to protect herself, as women would, and had merely been curious as to what sort. Or maybe she simply hadn't flowered yet, which of course was a very real possibility, especially considering how little body hair she had. That notion had in truth made him somewhat uneasy. So he asked. And now she was irritated. Come to think of it, she had seemed irritated for days. He reached for her, running a finger over her back, tracing little spirals around her birthmarks. "Well ... I suppose it is no different than being born without an arm or a leg, no?"

Elena drew another deep breath, held it for a moment, then turned onto her back. She smiled at him. "No. I suppose it isn't. It never bothered me, anyway - the bleeding seems really impractical, and I don't want children, so... Anyway, why are you so interested in my moon blood? Is this another fetish of yours you haven't told me about?" She grinned, poking at him.

He relaxed somewhat. Whatever it was that bothered her, she seemed to have decided to let it go, at least for now. Smiling, he said, "No, nothing like that. I was simply curious."

"Curiousity sated, then?"

"Yes ... but not my other appetites." He gave her a predatory grin.

"I think you'd need a harem to sate those," she giggled. "You've no idea how sore I am..."

He chuckled, flexing slightly and feeling various muscles throughout his body complain. "I think I do have some idea, as a matter of fact. But, now that you mention it ... remember that pirate friend of mine?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Elena obviously has no diagnosis, but she has some symtoms consistent with CAIS and Swyer syndrome. Given that this is a magical world, however, who knows the causes for her being the way she is. All SHE knows is that she's ... different.


	22. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Leliana is sad, and Alistair comforts her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, Leliana/Alistair, just to shake things up a bit! Fluff and smut ahoy!
> 
> This one is dedicated to my dear friends RG and M, most awesome of Dommes.

At night, Arl Eamon's Denerim estate was so quiet Alistair could almost imagine being back in Redcliffe castle. There were more guards posted here, understandably, and it was quite a bit smaller, but once the city noise faded it was much the same. He walked down a hallway, trailing his hand against the hewn stone of the walls the way he had done in Redcliffe as a child. He had woken up from nightmares back then, too - but those nightmares had been proper dreams, not visions of archdemons.

A noise from within the sitting room caused him to pause. The door was open just a crack, and there seemed to be someone crying inside. Pushing at the door, he saw a familiar shock of red hair. Leliana was seated on a divan close to the fireplace. She was hugging herself, drawing her dressing gown tight around her body. Her bare toes curled against the floor as her shoulders shook with quiet sobs.

"Leliana? Are you ... are you alright?"

She looked up and then whipped her head away, quickly wiping at her eyes. He hovered for a moment, uncertain what to do. _What would I tell myself in the morning if I ran away from a crying friend?_ He sighed and quietly walked over, gingerly sitting down next to her. Opening his mouth to speak, he found that for once he had no words, so he remained silent.

Eventually, Leliana sighed, relaxing somewhat. She spoke softly. "I thought I was over her but ... after we confronted Marjolaine, it all just came crashing back."

He thought of the look on Leliana's face when she had spoken with her bard-master. The betrayal she felt had been clear as day. Elena's anger for her friend had been palpable, the air around her crackling with it. It was a wonder they had allowed Marjolaine to walk. "It must have been difficult for you," he said quietly.

"They both had me fooled." She sighed again, followed by a mirthless chuckle. "At least Elena didn't do it on purpose ... but that makes it harder, too. I have no reason to hate her, or push her away. She is ... so innocent."

Alistair's prepared platitude died on his tongue. He looked at her, eyes widening a fraction with sudden understanding. She was gazing into the embers glowing in the banked fire, paying him no heed. Tears glistened on her eyelashes. "Oh," he finally managed.

"It doesn't matter now, I suppose." She sniffed, pulling a hand through her hair. "And this pain will pass, in time."

"... You really love her, don't you."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Don't you?"

"Well, yes, but ... as a friend. A sister."

"Oh ... right. Yes of course. You told me."

She looked so small like this. Not the woman he had grown used to; strong, wild, sparkling. Full of tales and laughter. He wished he knew what to do to make her whole again, but supposed there was nothing. She _loved_ Elena. He should have realised earlier, of course - now that he thought about it, it should have been obvious. But then, hindsight always gave perfect clarity, and relationships had never been his strong suit. In fact, he'd never worn that suit at all, and didn't expect to either.

He knew how to defend the world against rogue mages and enroaching darkspawn. How was he supposed to defend a friend against her own breaking heart?

Maybe he couldn't. Maybe all he could do was be there to help her pick up the pieces. He sighed and put his arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently. At first she didn't move, but then she sighed and relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She drew her legs up underneath her, shifting to the side to accomodate and leaning into him in the process. After a little time, she started crying again, and he hugged her close.

 

The tears stopped eventually, but she remained in his arms, face tucked into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. He smelled nice: A manly scent without unnecessary flourishes. Without complexity. No Orlesian perfumery could ever capture straightforward human intimacy, she reflected. She couldn't remember when someone had last held her like this, and suddenly she needed ... more. Needed to remember what it was like. She pressed her lips softly against his collarbone, then his throat. He tensed.

"Leliana..."

His breath had grown erratic and ragged and she could feel his pulse speeding up. _So sensitive_ , she thought. She continued slowly upwards, tracing his jawline with her lips. It was rough with reddish bristle. He was no Marjolaine, to be sure, nor was he Elena. Maybe that was why she suddenly craved him. It didn't matter. Elena had been right; it was time she stopped running from herself. Time she claimed what joys life would throw in her path.

He couldn't give her what she wanted ... but perhaps, he could give her what she needed.

"Leliana, I'm not sure..."

"I am," she whispered, and pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. She wouldn't push this on him, nor be hurt if he rejected her. Let the next step be his. She waited. He hesitated a few moments, then cupped her neck and drew her into a kiss.

He was new to this, that much was obvious, and she found herself smiling against his lips. Their teeth bumped gently against each other before they found their rhythm and the kiss deepened, increasing in fervour. She ran her hand over his broad, muscled shoulder, he slipped his own around her waist and pull her close.

Alistair broke apart with a breathless ramble, "This is ... I mean, should ... here is..."

"Take me to your room," she mumbled, grinning. She didn't have to tell him twice; he swept her off the divan, wavering a bit as he made his way to the door but quickly gaining his balance and lengthening his stride. Leliana giggled, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him. His room wasn't far off, and he set her down on his bed before latching the door behind them.

When Alistair joined her on the bed he was slightly hesitant again, having lost momentum. She grabbed him by the loose shirt he was wearing, pulling him down on top of her - then changed her mind halfway, pushing him over onto his back. No point wasting time letting him figure things out himself. She straddled him, grinning to herself. Heir to the throne he may be, but she had watched him meekly following Elena about for the better part of a year, and she had a feeling he would be quite willing to follow _her_ in this. She leaned down, kissing him deeply and grinding her hips against his growing erection until he writhed.

"Leliana," he gasped as she trailed her lips over his throat, hot breath streaming over his skin.

"Relax," she whispered in reply. "Let me be your guide."

She knew so many techniques of seduction, so many intricate ways to please a man. But this man wasn't a mark, and he didn't need seducing. His reactions made it amply clear that he wanted what she wanted; he just didn't know what to do. So she shrugged off the gown she had been wearing and then artlessly tugged at his clothes, kissing his skin wherever she exposed it, until they were both naked. He gasped again, staring at her, and she found herself immensely enjoying how he devoured her with his gaze. There was something almost worshipful about the way his eyes roved over her.

How long had it been since she last slept with a man? Or with anyone at all? She wasn't sure. Three years, at least. For such a long time, she had eschewed intimacy of any kind. After Marjolaine's betrayal, after what they did to her ... she had thought she never wanted a man to touch her again. What had changed? Maybe confronting Marjolaine had unlocked something within her. Maybe it was simply the passing of time, shielding her from past hurts. Maybe, it was the fact that Alistair was so very different from most men she had known. Here he was, looking up at her - breathless and boyish, those big brown eyes full of wonder and arousal, a gentle giant of a man. There was something thoroughly good and well-meaning and utterly guileless about him that melted her heart.

There was absolutely nothing of Marjolaine in him, and for that alone she loved him. Not the way she loved Elena, but it was enough. Enough for her to want this, want _him_.

Leliana smiled and trailed her fingers over his cheek gently. Giving him a light kiss on the lips, she slid down the bed until her head was level with his twitching member. Without hesitation, she took it in her mouth. Alistair moaned, his hips bucking forward. "Maker..!"

No gentle teasing, no slow build-up - she went straight for the finish. Her hand wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, she slid her tongue around the shaft until it was covered with saliva, then bobbed her head, lips tight around him, tongue swirling. He grasped the sheets in his hands, obviously trying to stay his hips when instinct made him want to thrust against her.

"Leliana, please, I can't, ... I won't last..."

 _Oh, my prince, I know_ , she thought, and increased her pace. He spasmed, his sac contracting and his cock throbbing in her mouth, filling it with his seed. She swallowed most, though some escaped the corner of her mouth and trickled down her hand. She released him and licked herself clean. The salty flavour woke memories in her, both pleasant and less so, but she let them rest and focused on the present.

There was a faint, blissful grin on Alistair's lips, but as she moved to lay beside him, he looked at her with a distraught expression. "I-I'm so sorry, I just, it's new to me and you were very, uh, very ... talented, and..."

She shushed him with a kiss. "Alistair, relax. The night is not over, this was just the warm-up. Taking the edge off, so to speak." She smiled at the dawning comprehension in his eyes. There would be no expectations of manly prowess here. _I lead. You follow._ "Now," she said, "since I pleasured you, I think it's only fair if you return the favour, is it not?"

He smiled at her, reaching up to caress her face gently. "Just tell me what to do." She took his hand and kissed the palm, then placed it on her breast and pressed her lips against his.

One long, gentle kiss later, she had encouraged him to explore her body, and his touch had gone from light and hesitant to firm and wanton. Leliana found herself responding to his desire, her skin now hot and flushed. Her sensitive spots ached for more. She sat up, then, and pushed him once more onto his back. Straddling his shoulders, she watched his eyes widen as her sex came into view just above his face. She moaned softly as she felt his breath caress the inside of her thighs. "Lick me," she whispered.

 

 _Maker_ , Alistair thought. Then he took it back, stern voices from his Chantry upbringing admonishing him not to bring the holy into this profane act. But ... Maker, she was beautiful, and smelled so good, and the things she did with her hands and her mouth - Andraste help him - he was losing it. Now, her sex hovered an inch from his face, and she told him to lick her, and he found his tongue darting forwards without checking in with his brain first - not that that was out of the usual...

The scent of her made his head spin. Leliana's sex was covered with fine red hair, neatly trimmed, and the slit glistened with moisture. He lapped at it, tasting her, finding the sensation strange but not unpleasant. She responded with another small moan, lowering herself onto his face so he didn't have to lift his head. He reached up, cupping and squeezing her ass.

Exploring with his tongue, he had soon laid bare the landscape of her sex to his mind's eye. There were the labia; when he traced them she sighed softly. There was the clit; flicking it with his tongue made her buck her hips against him, moaning. There was the opening from which flowed her juices; when he probed it she pressed against him, urging him further in. She gave him breathless pointers; higher, lower, faster, deeper, not there, there, yes _there, Maker, there!_ , and he complied without hesitation, letting her body, her sex, her pleasure become his entire world.

Soon she was grinding herself against him, in this act somehow defying all his expectations of what sex was supposed to be like. It was clear who was in charge here, and though his notion of "fucking" had always been that it was something a man did unto a woman, there was no question in his mind of who was fucking whom right now. She was _riding_ him, extracting pleasure from his mouth without shame or hesitation, filling the still air with her scent and her throaty moans. He reached up and around, catching her breasts in his hands, twirling her nipples between his fingers and she bucked and arched, sweat now pearling down her back and dripping onto his chest.

"Clit, focus on the clit," she breathed and he obeyed, "I'm there, don't stop, I'm there," and then she cried out, her whole body shuddering with spasms, her cunt grinding against his face as she came.

When she finally slumped against the headboard, he gently helped her off him. She stretched out next to him, body still quivering with aftershocks, eyes closed and mouth open. "Maker," she whispered, "I needed that." Alistair didn't reply, he just lay there, tracing the contours of her body with his eyes, stroking her skin as her sweat cooled. He was hard again, his cock aching desperately for her touch, but somehow it didn't matter at the moment. He felt perfectly contented to just bask in her afterglow.

 

Some time later - possibly just a few long moments, possibly minutes, she knew not - Leliana felt her strength return. She opened her eyes, finding Alistair's gaze on her, and gave him a smile. "We're not done yet," she said huskily and reached for his erection, thrilled by the look of delight that passed his face before he moaned with pleasure. "I want you inside me..."


	23. Complicated knots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein various heroes ponder the nature of various relationships. Also Elena and Morrigan have lunch.

It was nearly always dark when he saw her naked. In the muted light of oil lamps and candles, her skin was smooth and golden but for the birthmarks and bruises. But now she stood by the window, having thrown it open to let in the morning air and the bright morning light, and that was when her scars showed, white on white. In the dark, it was easy not to see them.

His own were obvious pale streaks across his darker skin. Many of them he had acquired in the last year, but just as many were older. She would trace them with her fingers sometimes, asking about this one and that, using them as a roadmap to his past.

But her scars were all new, and they were the same shade as the rest of her, just a different texture. Like velvet, when you smooth it down and then rake your fingers over it in the opposite direction. Fine lines criscrossing her arms; a broad stroke down her hip from some jagged darkspawn sword; uneven marks on her chest and back where she had been pierced by arrows, before he met her.

Elena pretended they didn't exist, and so he did as well.

Zevran rolled off the bed and padded over to stand behind her, snaking his arms around her waist and kissing her shoulder. "Good morning, pet."

She gave a wordless grunt, face scrunched up against the light. Her discomfort was obvious. Since the Deep Roads, it seemed to have become a ritual of hers, to begin each day by facing the sun even though it hurt her.

"Why do this, if it hurts?" he murmured, pressing his lips against her neck.

"Because the light is beautiful. The pain becomes beautiful, too," she sighed, leaning back against him.

He squeezed her, face hidden against the curve of her neck and shoulder. He inhaled her scent. He thought that perhaps, all beauty comes with pain. Perhaps there would come a day when he was ready to acknowledge that he didn't want to live in the dark anymore. Perhaps that day was soon.

 

The end was approaching.

Morrigan felt it in her bones. Things were quiet now, almost pleasant, but they would not remain so for long. The end was approaching, and she should feel relieved, but she wasn't.

She tried to tell herself that she was worried about the upcoming battle, and the part she was to play. And perhaps some of her apprehension was due to being surrounded by all these _people_ \- she glanced around the bustling marketplace, wrinkling her nose in disgust - for so long. But, fact was, she had a terrible feeling that she was going to miss all this. Above all, she was going to miss _her_.

"Look at those silks, they're lovely!" Elena said, pointing a gauntleted hand at a market stall. Their vibrant colours shone in the midday sun and quite unexpectedly made her think of flowers; rose pink, safflower yellow, the powder blue of forget-me-nots.

The Warden's eyes were shining, and Morrigan had to smile at her enthusiasm. She arched an eyebrow. "Are you not posing as a boy?"

The armor very much did make her look like one, what little womanly features she possessed now hidden underneath the sleek metal of the cuirass. Elegantly sculpted pauldrons broadened her shoulders and her hair was combed back and braided in a warrior's queue instead of the usual topknot. There was of course little that could be done about Elena's face - round and rosy-cheeked with huge emerald eyes and pink lips, there was no way anyone would think it belonged to a teenage boy - but at a distance, no one would take her for a girl mage. And when she wore her helmet, as long as she didn't speak, no one would know the difference.

Pursing her mouth in a mock sulk, Elena said, "Boys wear silk all the time. At least the nobles."

"'Tis unlikely they are quite as enthusiastic about it as you are, however," Morrigan chuckled.

"I guess you're right." Elena sighed. "Hey, let's grab something to eat."

A little while later, they had found both food and a small, secluded garden that at least appeared to be open to the public. They chose a sunny spot sheltered by the back wall of a house and sat down to eat. Morrigan picked at her food. Elena was starving as usual, and wolfed down bread and cheese and the better part of a spicy sausage as if she had never seen food before.

"Have you given any thought as to what you will do once this is all over?" Morrigan inquired when she judged the Warden capable of focusing on something other than eating.

"You mean if I survive?"

She blinked, somewhat startled by the deadpan way the line had been delivered. As if the possibility of death meant nothing to her. The thought made her uneasy. "Y-yes. Of course."

"Oh, don't look so dour. Of course I'll live!" Elena grinned, leaning back against the wall. "Everyone's gonna live. I'm not letting any of you die on me now! Anyway..." She paused, looking thoughtful as she picked what was left of her loaf of bread apart. Large crumbs fell to the ground, and soon attracted a flock of sparrows. "I haven't thought about it much. I guess maybe I'd like to travel for a while."

"We _have_ spent the last year travelling back and forth across Ferelden," Morrigan pointed out. She quelled an impulse to scare the birds off. No doubt, Elena enjoyed how they fearlessly hopped right up to their feet to peck at the breadcrumbs.

"Well, yes. I just thought it'd be nice to see the world without having to worry about saving it, you know?"

"'Twould, indeed."

Elena sighed. "Then ... I guess Irving will want me back in the Tower eventually, if the Grey Wardens don't need me more."

And _there_ was that familiar surge of anger. Morrigan welcomed it, even as she regretted the peace disturbed. Always so torn, these days. "You would go back to your _cage?_ " she spat, her eyes narrowing.

"It was my home, Morrigan," Elena said softly. She looked at her hands. "The only one I've known."

"They treat you worse than dogs," she retorted angrily. Here was one area they would never see eye to eye, that was for certain. How it was that Elena did not hate the Chantry and everything it stood for, how it was that she did not fear Templars and despise those Circle mages complicit in their own subjugation, Morrigan would never understand. They had fought over it, again and again, especially in the beginning, until there came a point where they reached some kind of silent understanding that the best course may be to simply never raise the matter. But sometimes, like now, it seemed inevitable.

Elena glared at her, her voice flat when she spoke, "But no worse than Flemeth treated you. And yet you never fought back or ran away."

"I have now!" Morrigan exclaimed, standing up and pacing a few steps. The sparrows rose in a cloud around her. "Once I understood what she was planning, 'twas obvious what had to be done, and I did not shy away from that path." She whirled around, staring accusingly at the Warden. "You _know_ the Templars will take any opportunity, any excuse to kill you or sever you from the Fade - and yet you do nothing to oppose them!"

"It's not--" Elena started as if to push away from the wall and raise her voice, then sighed and shook her head. She remained where she was, seated against the sundrenched wall, eyes pointed at the ground. Morrigan felt her anger draining away as quickly as it had come. What was the point of having this argument now? Chances were Elena wouldn't survive the Blight. And if she did, it was highly unlikely that Morrigan would be around to know what choices she made afterwards. Let her ruin her own life, if that was what she wanted.

She shook her head sadly, wishing that was actually how she felt.

Eventually, Elena said, "Well, anyway. It's not like I can get away from them even if I wanted to."

"Your leash is somewhere here in Denerim, is it not?" Morrigan said, her voice softer now. "'Twould surely not be an impossible feat to find it and destroy it, for one such as you."

"My lea-- oh, my phylactery? I guess." Elena shrugged.

She returned to her side, sliding her back down the wall until she sat. She swallowed, hesitating a moment. "I do not understand how you can allow others such power over you. 'Tis ... 'tis beneath you." It was as much of an admission of her admiration as she could muster at this point.

It had been easy, at the start, when she hadn't known Elena. Back then she had merely seen her immense power, and in that felt some sort of kinship. But being around her, working with her, getting to _know_ and _like_ her had been ... _infuriating_. The grudging respect she now felt both for Elena and her fellow Warden gnawed at her. As misguided as their ideals of justice and compassion were, they stayed true to them, persevering in the face of danger and the thankless indifference of existence. Somehow, despite being encumbered by a conscience the size of a dragon and a moral compass constantly pointing them at the most arduous path available, they had made it this far. She could not help but respect them for that. And in that admiration was the glimmer of an admission that perhaps there was more than one way to live one's life.

Was this friendship? Worrying about people, regretting having to part from them - having them doubt her own path? Being bound to others? If that was the case, she felt as though it should be easy to simply cast it aside, as it was clearly clouding her judgement. But it wasn't easy. No matter how she tried to hate Elena for having put her in this vulnerable state, she couldn't. If she was bound to Elena, it was a knot too complicated for her to untie.

Elena looked at her, and smiled that brilliant smile of hers. As if they just hadn't been angry with each other, as if there had been no yelling. She would never understand how easily she moved on, but she was grateful for it. If nothing else, it seemed unlikely that they would have gotten this far, if Elena hadn't been able to carry her scars and burdens the way she did. "There's lots we don't understand about each other," Elena was saying. "And yet here we are, sharing a meal. What are you doing once this is over, anyway?"

"I ... 'Tis too early to tell," she said guardedly. She expected more questions, but Elena simply nodded and left it at that.

 

_Once this is all over_... Elena's gaze swept around the dining room. Her companions were all gathered, for once - even Shale, even though she needed no food. These people, these criminals and misfits as she had once described them to Wynne, were her family. Only now did it strike her that she had little idea what would happen to it once the cause that brought them all together had been dealt with.

Alistair's fate was to rule Ferelden, of course. Sten, soul-sword restored, would probably go back to his people. Wynne would be expected back at Kinloch hold, but Elena wasn't so sure she would want to go. As for the others, she really had no idea. Would any of them want to stay with her?

Would Zevran?

Elena found her eyes wandering to where he was seated across the table. The elf was busy juggling a conversation with Wynne and Morrigan, and doing his best to make both of them blush. Eyes darting in her direction, he flashed her a toothy grin and winked. Elena smiled faintly and ducked her head to hide the reddening of her own cheeks. She was reminded of the beginning of their adventure, how she had watched him across the campfire, fascinated by his worldliness and his lack of shame. In retrospect she supposed she must have looked quite the fool, to be drawn to his anything but subtle charms like a moth to a flame.

He was the first to ever have treated her like a woman. Not a girl or a mage or a Warden, but a woman.

And then ... She shook her head and picked at her food. It was becoming so difficult to think about him these days. She had let go of the anger she felt after he told her of Rinna and Taliesen, but that hadn't made their relationship any less confusing. Then again, she had a landsmeet to prepare and an archdemon to defeat. If they were both alive after that ... there would be time to sort things out. Until then, she would focus on the task at hand while the sun was up, and spend her nights letting him lead her deeper into depravity.

Once more she felt his eyes on her. She thought of what they had planned for this evening and blushed hotly, and he awarded her a knowing smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight. Got a couple of chapters nearly done and sketches of the rest.
> 
> I WILL FINISH THIS!!! WOOOO (this has seriously never happened before)


	24. The more the merrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Zevran and Elena have a playdate with the queen of the eastern seas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey subscribers (I barely believe you exist but AO3 tells me it is so :O ), sorry about the delay. Been busy trying to crawl out of a hole of SAD. Also I've sort of been writing/sketching the last few chapters all at once. Also also, this one was trickyyyy! But fun. And it's time to throw it out of the nest and focus on the other babies. I hope you like. LOTS OF SMUT AHOY.

"And what of your little friend? Will she be joining us?"

Elena felt the full force of Isabela's smouldering gaze upon her and shrank slightly. A blush spread over her cheeks and she cast her eyes down to where her fingers were fiddling aimlessly with her still mostly full glass. The wine was sweet and heavy and though it tasted wonderful, she dared not drink any more lest it went to her head, which already felt too light. Around them, patrons of the Pearl engaged in muted conversations with the merchandise. The air was thick with incense.

"Where I go, she goes," Zevran said smoothly, slipping an arm around her shoulders. She felt his fingers underneath her chin, turning her face towards him. He locked her eyes with his. "Isn't that right, pet?" The tone of his voice made her quiver inside.

He was giving her a choice. She knew that she was allowed to say no. They had talked about this, he had explained how it would work, she had agreed, and yet he still checked in with her now. Her head was spinning and her stomach churning - but there was that feeling in her chest, that tightening sensation, as if he held her whole being in his hand and squeezed gently just to show that he had her. And her loins burned. Maker help her, she was terrified and she wanted this. She swallowed, nodding, managing to give him a nervous smile. _Yes. That's right_.

"O-oh, is that the way of it?" the pirate said, voice husky with excitement. Isabela was grinning, teeth flashing white against her dark skin. "Well, then, what are we waiting for?"

 

She wasn't sure what she had expected a pirate captain's cabin to look like, but this certainly had not been it. The room was lavishly furnished with a large bed (curtained with heavy red velvet), a couple of comfortable chairs (all polished dark wood and gold brocade), large cabinets and a chest (ornately carved), and a thick rug on the floor. Covered lamps burned on the walls, bathing the room in a warm glow. Elena found herself staring. In a way, she supposed this was indeed the perfect environment for Isabela. That she kept her living space as lush and extravagant as herself should have been no surprise.

"I see fortune has favoured you since last we met," Zevran commented.

Isabela snorted. "Fortune's a fickle bitch. _This_ is all _my_ doing. Luis was a fool - with me as captain we finally started bringing in the gold." She shrugged off her coat and threw it casually into a corner, then unslung her daggers ... and drew a couple more from hidden sheaths in her boots. Looking up, she caught Elena's expression and grinned. "Will you look at those eyes! Such an adorable little pet you've found, Zev."

"Adorable," he agreed, "and very pliant."

Isabela drew one of the bed's curtains, shielding her corner from view, and started rummaging through the chest. Elena jumped slightly as Zevran stepped up behind her and began undressing her. "Remember, the usual rules apply," he whispered. She had trouble focusing on his words over the sensation of his breath on her neck. "I've told Isabela our signals." She expected him to say something more, something to calm her down, but he was quiet. It struck her that he probably didn't want her calm. The thought somehow transformed a lot of her nervousness into anticipation.

"Say, Zev, you still any good with ropes?" came Isabela's voice from behind the curtain.

He huffed. "Of course I am."

A tangle of hemp was thrown on the bed. "Then why don't you bundle up the new girl so we can catch up in peace." The noises coming from her corner seemed to indicate that she was undressing, but Elena was a bit too preoccupied with the feeling of Zevran's hands baring her skin to pay them, or indeed Isabela's words, much heed.

"Certainly," Zevran replied.

"And... you still have a thing for leather, right? Because I have some new additions to my toy chest that I think you will very much enjoy, in that case..."

When she came out from behind the curtain, Elena was naked and Zevran was putting the finishing touches on a rope harness much like the one she had worn in Redcliffe. The constricting feeling of the ropes had the dual effect of calming her nervousness and keying her up, and at first she didn't notice Isabela approaching. A sharp intake of breath from Zevran caused her to look up.

Isabela had tied her hair back with a brightly patterned scarf and dressed herself in a white chemise which left very little to the imagination. Leather boots with numerous buckles came halfway up her thighs, and a matching leather corset hugged her waist. Though her assets had been very much in evidence even before, that was nothing compared to how this outfit emphasised them. Elena couldn't help but stare. Before Zevran, she had never thought of bodies as pretty or desirable. Nor had gender figured much into her sexual fantasies - she supposed she had defaulted to men because it was expected of her. It wasn't until now that she truly fathomed just how powerful the force of unbridled feminine sensuality could be.

It was definitely having an effect on Zevran, at any rate. "That ... is a _very_ good look for you, Isabela," he murmured breathlessly.

Just as Elena had never thought of the bodies of others as objects of desire, she had never much considered her own in that light, but with Isabela's eyes roving over her she became suddenly very self-conscious. She thought she must look very pale and skinny and probably disappointingly lacking in curves, but Isabela merely licked her lips with a grin and said, "Now now... that is lovely. Let's put her in a chair."

Zevran guided Elena into one of the chairs and quickly looped a coil of rope around each of her ankles and the chair's legs, as well as attaching the back of her harness to the chair so she couldn't fall off it. The moment Zevran was done, Isabela pulled him onto his feet and kissed him deeply, backing him up against a wall. Elena swallowed, breath catching in her throat as she watched him close his eyes, meekly following Isabela's lead.

Breaking off for a moment, Isabela winked at her. "Don't worry, pet, you'll get yours in due time. It's just, you see, Zev did me a great favour once, and I still haven't finished repaying him. Just wait there while I show him how grateful I am."

 

Being the middle man, so to speak, turned out to be far trickier than Zevran had expected. He found himself glad that he had such ample experience taking charge of Elena before attempting anything like this. Had she not trusted him as much as she did, and had he not been able to read her as well as he could, the whole exercise would probably have turned out quite disastrous. Now, it was a calculated risk to bring Isabela into their game, one he judged well worth the rewards. But yes, it was definitely tricky, having to juggle always keeping one eye on Elena (while letting her think she was on her own) with his desire to lose himself in the whirlwind that was Isabela's passion.

And it got trickier. Isabela had wasted no time in ripping off his clothes and manhandling him onto the bed, much to his delight, and now she was raking her nails down his chest while kissing him eagerly. He didn't hold back his own pleasure, moaning and bucking his hips against her to urge her on - and that was when there was a loud, insistent rapping on the door.

"Captain! Ma'am!" came the voice of Isabela's first mate from without. "There's another search! I saw the guards boarding the _Paragon_ just now. I'd say the _Siren_ 's next!"

Isabela sat up, frowning. She was flushed, never one to take long to get into the mood, and her irritation at the interruption was as obvious as her arousal. "Blasted... argh," she grumbled and rolled off both Zevran and the bed. She sighed, walking over to the door and speaking through it: "Okay. Thanks, Casivir! Go about your business, I'll be fine here - you'll know if I need you."

Zevran sat up, catching Elena's worried gaze. He gave her what he hoped was a calming smile. She didn't need worry; they had ample time to think something up. Isabela was already at her side, tugging at the loose ends of the hitches with which he had secured Elena's legs to the chair's, undoing them quickly. He moved over to the chair and untied the rope attached to the harness, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

"C'mon. Let's get her under the bed," Isabela urged him as she pulled the rope out of the way. Then she fired off a smile at Elena carrying equal parts warmth and self-assurance. "Don't worry, sweet thing - I've got this under control. Loghain's men have been making sweeps of the harbour for some time. I have them wrapped 'round my little finger. Just keep quiet and you'll be fine."

As she spoke, Zevran carried his still-tied-up charge over to the bed and laid her on the floor. He had to admit, this plan was even ballsier than he would have expected. He also had to admit it excited him far more than was probably appropriate. Still, there really was no particular danger. If they didn't discover Elena, no harm done. If they did discover Elena, the ropes did nothing to hinder her use of magic, and both Isabela and himself had weapons within reach. He kissed her, then rested his forehead against hers for a moment. "Okay?" he whispered.

Elena stared at him, trembling slightly but showing no signs of being particularly afraid. She nodded. "Okay."

With a smile, he helped her disappear underneath the bed.

"Now, Zev - let's give them a show they shan't forget."

He chortled as he stood up and turned towards the grinning pirate. "Oh, Isabela, you really know how to woo a man."

"Shut up and get on the bed," she ordered and shoved him backwards onto the mattress.

 

Isabela had been resigned to yet another dreary night swindling the drunk patrons of the Pearl (she had already slept with and bored of the fuckable ones) when Zevran appeared. Seeing him again was a nice surprise in and of itself, but that he showed up in the mood for sexual adventures with a cute girl was quite something else. And now, it seemed as though they would have an audience, as well. This evening was turning out far more interesting than she had anticipated.

She didn't let that stop her from getting on with the fun stuff, of course. By the time the guard slammed her door open (why couldn't they ever _knock?_ ), she was already riding Zevran's cock, having stripped him of his last bit of clothing and ripped off her own smalls. Danger just got her juiced up something _fierce_ , and she was never a very patient woman. Zevran had responded in kind, pulling at her chemise until her ample breasts spilled out, one hand digging between her legs until it was covered with her juices and smearing his cock with them before she impaled herself on it.

"For the love of ... can't you see I'm _busy?_ " she groaned as the guard barged in. Her hips were still gyrating, Zev's hands upon them, fingers digging into her flesh. He had thrown his head back in a moan but moments ago; now he looked up at her with a shit-eating grin that made her want to smack him for almost ruining her act. Still, from where the guard stood, he wouldn't be able to see his face. She gave Zevran a cautioning glare and then rolled off him, turning it on the guard instead.

The hapless bastard was still standing in the doorway, quite flabbergasted by the sight that greeted him. Now he stammered as she advanced on him, leaving Zevran sprawled on the bed, naked and throbbing for all the world to see. "Er. Uh. Sorry, ma'am, we're just ... y'know, lookin' fer ..."

"D'you have _any_ idea what an elf this well made costs per hour? You gonna reimburse me for lost time?" She gestured wildly toward Zevran. She was well aware of how her breasts swayed when she did. It was the perfect set-up, really - regardless of whether the guard preferred men or women, there would have been plenty to distract him (and if he liked both, so much the better!). Zevran played his part perfectly, lounging back against the pillows, giving the intruder a seductive smirk.

"Ah-- eh--"

"Unless you were planning on joining us, I suggest you be on your way." She huffed, crossing her arms underneath her tits. "Since we haven't left harbour since last you checked the holds, I don't see how you're going to find anything new worthy of note, but feel free to have a look if you must. Just get out of my cabin before this pretty piece of meat decides my gold isn't worth the hassle!"

"Right. I'm off then," the guard mumbled, backing out of the room. "Uh. Have fu--"

She slammed the door on his nose, then clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. _The look on his face! Priceless!_

"Ahem," came Zevran's voice from behind her, and she turned around. He was still smirking, now arching an eyebrow at her. "'Pretty piece of meat'?"

She shrugged and walked back to the bed, grinning. "Well, you are."

 

"Better keep going in case they check back in on us."

The bed creaked as Isablea crawled back onto it. Elena licked her lips, swallowing and then drawing a deep breath. And another. She had hardly dared to breathe while the guardsman had been in the room, and now she felt lightheaded. At least she was reasonably comfortable; the bed was just about tall enough for her to lie on her side and the rug covered most of the floor underneath it. She shared the space with what she thought were boxes and one or two sacks containing whatever it was that Isabela thought worth keeping underneath her bed.

Now that the most immediate danger was over, she could pay attention to what was actually happening. From above her came the sounds of urgent, unabashed intimacy. Isabela was hardly shy about voicing her own pleasure, nor did she hesitate to tell Zevran exactly what she wanted. He was making noises she had never heard before. Elena squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing again. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, to be hidden from sight, ignored and forgotten while they enjoyed each other's bodies ... she squeezed her thighs together, biting her lip.

After what felt like hours, and judging by Isabela's vocalisations at least three orgasms, there was a knock and indistinct words coming from the door. "Thanks mate!" the pirate called. "Right! We're clear. Now, I wanna play with the pet."

" _Si, capitan!_ " Zevran answered. From the timbre of his voice, Elena judged he was grinning.

She was hauled out from underneath the bed by Isabela, who then easily picked her up and set her down on top of it. The woman looked far softer than she was. Her generous curves belied her strength, and her hands were calloused in much the same way as Zevran's. Elena shivered at her touch, stifling a whimper as Isabela ran her fingers over her breast, flicking her nipple.

"Aww, look at her! She's all flustered," Isabela giggled.

Zevran came up to sit behind her, leaning back on the pillows piled against the headboard. He guided her to lie back against his chest, which was slick with sweat. He nipped at her earlobe, eliciting a gasp. "From how she acts you'd think she was a virgin," he chuckled. "Let me assure you, she is not. I think if I didn't keep an eye on her, she would be a bigger slut than you."

Elena blushed and glanced at Isabela's face, vaguely worried that she would take offense at the insult, but Isabela merely rolled her eyes. She was pursing her lips thoughtfully, eyeing Elena as she knelt on the mussed up sheets in front of her. A thatch of gleaming black hair could be glimpsed underneath her chemise, and her breasts were beaded with sweat and ... something that probably wasn't sweat.

Zevran's hands slipped underneath Elena's thighs and parted them wide. Sex now on full display, Elena felt her cheeks burning as her blush deepened. She averted her eyes, too embarrassed to look at the woman in front of her, but not before she saw Isabela's teeth flashing in a grin. "My my, she's all wet! You know, I think I have just the thing for this one..."

A minute later, Isabela returned from her toy chest. She had stripped off her corset and chemise and was now stretching languidly, obviously glad to be out of the constricting clothing. Instead she was wearing a sort of leather harness around her hips and groin, and in it ... Elena tried not to stare. Isabela set her hands on her hips proudly and turned from side to side so they could see properly. "Like it? I've got others if you prefer a different size..."

Elena had been prepared for many things, her and Zevran having discussed what might happen at length. Isabela wearing an artificial cock had not been one of them. She tensed slightly, gasping as Isabela once more crawled onto the bed, advancing on her. Then she felt Zevran's hands on her, stroking her arms, her shoulders, one hand gently massaging her neck. Twisting her head she saw his eyebrow raised in question. She licked her lips and looked back at Isabela, who was rubbing oil all over her ... cock. Her dusky skin gleamed in the lamplight, full lips slightly parted in a small smile. Elena felt a wave of heat course through her, and she leaned her head back on Zevran's shoulder, relaxing and letting her thighs open wide in answer to his silent question. "Good girl," he whispered, his hands moving around to pluck at her nipples. She moaned in response.

Finished with her preparations, Isabela leaned down and pressed her lips against Elena's sex, tongue swirling expertly over her clit until she was bucking and whimpering. Isabela's fingers were inside her, twisting and pumping, stretching her opening. It didn't take long for her to peak, the frustration built up during the past hour or so coming undone in long, shuddering convulsions. Then Isabela moved up and kissed her full on the lips. The pirate smelled of tar, sweat and cinnamon, and Elena could taste herself in the kiss.

Isabela moved closer, nudging Elena's legs up with her knees so she could get into position. Soon, she felt the tip of her strapped-on member push against her opening, and the sensation shook her out of her post-climax stupour somewhat. It was less cold than she had thought it would be, and she decided it was probably made of leather, warmed by Isabela's hands. It seemed to be roughly the same size as Zevran, but when Isabela tilted her hips and pushed into her, she found that it lacked the yield of flesh and thus felt much bigger. She whimpered, tilting her hips slightly to ease the entry.

Isabela hooked her arms underneath her knees, her breasts pressing into Elena as she leaned over her to kiss Zevran hungrily. Her hips rocked slowly, pushing the leather cock deeper into Elena with every stroke. Zevran's hands were trapped between their breasts, his fingers twirling Elena's nipples. Soon, Elena found herself moaning, arching her back to meet Isabela's thrusts.

She was vaguely aware of Zevran's cock stiffening against her back, and the two of them whispering over her shoulder. When Zevran's hands left her breasts and slipped down to massage her ass, she barely reacted, lost in the heat and the smell of sex and the rhythm of Isabela's rolling hips. One of his fingers massaged her pucker, already slick with oil and her own juices, and when it slipped inside her she finally gasped with realisation. Isabela kissed her again, and she heard Zevran whisper in her ear, words equally encouraging and humiliating. He worked on her ass, Isabela slowing to accomodate him as he stretched her and helped her relax.

Initially nervous, she soon found herself yearning for him, pushing back against him to urge him on, and they laughed gently at her eagerness. After what seemed to Elena like an eternity of gentle massage and long after she considered herself ready, Isabela pulled out and helped Zevran lift her up so he could move his legs underneath her. Isabela straddled his thighs and then they manouvered her into position over his erection. Slowly, carefully they lowered her onto him, Zevran alert to her every move, Isabela watching her face closely. When he was all the way in, they once more had her lie back against him.

The sensation of being filled up as Isabela once more pushed inside her cunt was out of this world. Elena threw her head back. She scarcely believed the sound that erupted from her lips; an earthy moan that surely belonged to a very different being, maybe someone like Isabela. The voluptuous pirate was once again fucking her slowly as she sat impaled on Zevran's cock. She could feel him tense, his muscles taut and twitching as he fought to stay still while Isabela moved.

Eyes half-lidded and with a smirk curling her lips, Isabela gradually increased the pace and force of her thrusting. "What a little slut you've found, Zev," the pirate murmured. "I only just met her, and here she is, spreading them like a professional." Her sentences were choppy and punctured. She still wasn't moving too fast and didn't pull out very far, but she made every thrust count. Isabela's breasts jiggled with each impact as she fucked her.

"Mh ... she's a natural," Zevran replied, his voice ever so slightly strained. Elena could feel his cock twitching inside her. When he continued speaking, he leaned in so that his lips were right next to her ear. "She'd be a terrible whore however - she likes it so much, she'd let customers fuck her for free." Elena felt humiliation twist her stomach, heightening her pleasure immesurably, and when Zevran's hand snaked around her waist until his fingers found her clit she cried out. Soon, between Isabela's thrusting and Zevran's cock filling her up and his fingers' expert dance on her clit, she was shuddering in the throes of orgasm.

Isabela eased off, allowing Elena to catch her breath before she gently clasped her chin and gave her a kiss on the lips. "Don't get too sleepy, sweet thing. The night's young and we've only just gotten started..."

 

"Brandy? It's Antivan. I've been saving it for a special occasion." Isabela was already peeling the wax off the bottle. She glanced at Zevran, who was taking a seat in one of the chairs, sliding down slightly so he could lean his head back. He had pulled on his trousers, but his chest was bare and his hair tousled. A small, satisfied smile played on his full lips. _Pretty piece of meat, indeed_ , she thought with a smirk as she poured amber liquid into a couple of glasses.

Zevran accepted the proffered brandy, sniffing it before taking a sip. "Very nice!" He arched an eyebrow, giving her a rakish grin. "This is some good stuff indeed. Are you trying to seduce me, captain?"

She snickered and took a seat. "This was _fun_ ," she said, eyeing the prone form on the bed. Elena had gone out like a candle, barely stirring when she and Zevran got up. Now they were speaking in hushed tones but not making any particular effort to be quiet, and it seemed not to disturb the sleeping Warden in the least. "You weren't kidding about her being pliant," Isabela commented. He 'mm'ed in response and she continued with a wry grin, "Kind of wish you had come earlier."

Zevran drew himself up slightly. "Oh? You are leaving soon?"

"Yeah, weighing anchor tomorrow. Blight's getting closer and we've no more business here. Fenced what needed fencing, stores all full ... I think we may hit the Free Marches next. Hey, why don't you come with me? I can always use another blade, and you do look great in my bed. She can come, too." Her tone was easy, non-committal. She knew what his answer would be, after all, so there was no point in sounding too eager.

Predictably, he shook his head. "No. It's ... tempting, but no. She has a mission, and I swore an oath to follow her."

"What's this? Has my favourite assassin suddenly developed a sense of honour?" Isabela teased, and Zevran frowned into his brandy. She wondered how much prodding it would take to make him squirm. There had been no mistaking the tenderness in his movements when he had drawn a sheet over Elena and plucked stray locks of hair out of her face before leaving the bed. Stupid man ... but it was kind of cute, too. As long as it didn't happen to her. "I must admit I'm surprised, though," she continued when he didn't answer. "She's not exactly your usual type, is she? The Zevran I remember tends to prefer lovers with more ... bite."

He chortled. "I know she doesn't look like much, but she's probably the most dangerous woman I've slept with. No offense. First time we met - funny story actually, I was trying to kill her - she set half my men on fire and nearly lightning shocked me to death."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? I wouldn't have thought she had it in her. Truth be told, at first I thought you were joking when you said she was a Grey Warden. Ah, well," she said and kicked back, crossing her legs. "Don't judge a dog by its drool and all that crap." She waved her hand dismissively, remembering the glass of brandy just a little bit too late to prevent it from splashing over her hand. "Pfft, what a waste ... anyway. If you survive this whole saving-the-world thing, look me up sometime, will you?"

"Oh, sure! I'll commandeer a ship in the name of the Grey Wardens and go hunting down the queen of the eastern seas. That'll go _swimmingly_."

Isabela pursed her lips, unsure if she was more amused or annoyed. He wasn't going to get her to be more candid than this, and she would find it terribly annoying if he tried even after she had so kindly refrained from teasing him about his feelings regarding Elena. "You know what I mean," she muttered.

Zevran smiled at her, not his scoundrel's smirk but a genuine smile, and raised his glass in a toast. "I know. Here's to the future."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first (and possibly the last) time I wrote a threesome. Fucking hell it was hard!


	25. Lost opportunities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Zevran fails at telling the truth.

There was something soothing about caring for one's equipment - especially when that equipment consisted mostly of leather. Leliana didn't seem to enjoy it quite as much as Zevran did, but she seemed glad for the company. For his part, he was glad for the distraction of arguing amiably over things like what sort of fat was best for conditioning armor.

But of course, it wouldn't last. He should have known Leliana would want to talk about exactly the topics he didn't. "So, I hear it was your turn this morning. What were you even doing in the city?" she chided. He strongly suspected her real question was 'why wasn't I invited'. Leliana had become ever hungrier for action since they had faced down Marjolaine.

"Elena found this shop full of paintings and curiousities the other day and wanted to show Sten. Shale and I tagged along."

"And the Crows showed up?"

Zevran sighed. "Yes." Knowing she wouldn't let him off without getting his version of what happened, he told her the gist of it. Taliesen had ambushed them, now he was dead, simple as that. A few embellishments to keep the bard's thirst for stories sated.

He didn't tell her how Taliesen's eyes had stared sightlessly at the overcast sky until Zevran gently closed them for him. He didn't tell her how it had pained him to see the man so still, his once so animated face turning ashen as his lifeblood ran down stone steps in crimson rivulets.

It was Zevran who had killed him. Most of Taliesen's men had swarmed Sten and Shale, and Elena had focused on taking down the archers, leaving him to fight the man who had been his best friend on his own. Taliesen had sneered, taunted him. Once, he would probably have taunted right back. Or, worse, he would have taken him up on the offer to return to the Crows. He had been tempted, just for a second ... and then Elena softly pointed out that she would need to be dead first.

There had been no choice. And now Taliesen was dead. It hurt more than it should, even as he felt freer for it. A chapter of his life, violently closed.

"So, will they leave you alone now?" Leliana inquired. She paused her work momentarily to look up at him, eyebrows slightly raised. He thought there was a hint of concern in her expression, and wondered if there even was a point to trying to keep his mask on in front of her any more. It would be nice to simply be honest about his feelings, but ... it wasn't easy. He wasn't even honest with _himself_ most of the time, let alone others.

He shrugged. "For a time. Eventually I suppose they will realise I'm not dead, and someone else will come after me." Giving the belt he was working on a final swipe of the rag, he set it down and looked up at her with a grin. "Unless, of course, I go after them first."

Leliana cocked her head. "Is that your plan for the future, then?"

Ah, now, that was the question, wasn't it. Everything would have been so much easier if Elena had just told him to stay with her. Instead she had looked at him with those big, sincere eyes and said that he should do whatever was best for him. How was he supposed to know? All his life, choices had been made for him, over his head, and his own well-being had probably never been a factor in those decisions. He had never been his own man, and though the rules had sometimes chafed, it had been a very simple life. And now there was Elena, putting him on the spot, telling him to choose his own direction in life.

He had defaulted to his oath - or so he told himself. Isabela's teasing words about developing a sense of honour echoed in his mind. It wasn't as though Elena seemed much inclined to hold him to it, so why should he?

At least she had seemed genuinely happy when he suggested he would stay. That was all he had wanted, really. Why couldn't she just have told him that she wanted him to remain by her side? A tiny voice in his mind chided him for that thought, pointing out that it was unfair. After all, he was the one who gave her an earring, telling her not to get the wrong idea about it, changing his mind and almost admitting what she meant to him, and then interrupting himself and running off before she would think to ask what he meant by any of it. _If you'll excuse me_ , he had said, _I need to get Taliesen's blood out of my armor_. And he had fled, and the moment was gone.

_Stupid_.

Realising he had been staring emptily into the air for several moments and Leliana was giving him a curious look, he inhaled sharply and said, "My plan, for now, is to stay with the Warden. Having come this far, it would be a shame not to see this through."

"Ah," Leliana said, setting aside her equipment. She leaned forwards and propped her chin on her hand. Eyes narrowing somewhat, she gave him a self-satisfied smirk. "Speaking of you and Elena, did you have fun with that Rivaini pirate the other night?"

"You followed us? I had a feeling," he lied, giving her a wry smile. The fact that she had apparently shadowed them closely enough to figure out Isabela's origin and occupation without him noticing it rattled him somewhat - it meant he had been careless. At least there was some comfort in the knowledge that Leliana was really good at what she did. He was rattled, but not embarrassed.

"Alistair saw you sneaking off and asked if I could keep an eye on you. So I did. She's ... very impressive. I almost wish you had invited me."

Zevran chuckled. As much as he enjoyed this new and improved version of Leliana, he somehow doubted Elena would have been amenable to the idea. It was one thing to have some non-committal fun with a stranger, quite another to bed one's best friends. This had never stopped _him_ , obviously, but the Warden was a different sort. "I bet you do, at that. Anyway, if you want details you'll have to ask Elena. My lips are sealed."

"You are no fun." Prurient curiousity foiled, Leliana sat back up, pouting slightly.

He grinned at her. "Speaking of fun, you must have had an awfully boring night, no? As far as I'm aware, all the action happened inside Isabela's cabin."

Sadly, she seemed impervious to teasing. She merely shrugged and said, "Oh, I didn't stay all night, you seemed safe enough. I made myself useful before I went home, though. Can you guess what the guards were looking for?"

"I had assumed they were searching for the Wardens?"

Leliana shook her head with a frown. "No. It's almost worse than that: Loghain is having them search for Orlesian spies. Thankfully, the one I talked to was a drunken half-wit. I convinced him I was from Antiva."

"That _is_ bad," Zevran agreed. "Your Antivan accent is terrible."

"I just mean that Loghain seems ... really unhinged. Paranoid. If Elena doesn't win the landsmeet ... I shudder to imagine it. A paranoid man with an army is a terrible thing."

Zevran nodded his agreement easily, somehow far less uneasy with this subject than the previous ones. They kept chatting for a time, until a servant informed them that supper had been served. Then they moved to the dining room. Zevran took a seat across the table from Elena - he'd never sit next to her if he could help it, much preferring a seat where he could look at her without craning his neck. Her eyes shone when they met his, and he felt his appetite draining, fingers growing clammy around the cutlery.

He had to tell her. He had to ask her about the future. He had to find out if any of this was real, or if he was just being stupid. It had to be done soon, tonight even.

He was terrified.

 

"No, I ... no. I mean no offense, I simply ... no."

Elena almost staggered backwards with shock. She stared at him for a moment and then blinked rapidly, averting her eyes. "Alright," she said weakly. "Sorry I asked."

"You do not need to apologise," Zevran said softly. "Just ... do not ask."

She thought there was something regretful in his voice, the sad cast of his eyes, but for some reason it didn't ... connect. It was as though the entire world, including Zevran, was suddenly very far away. "Uh ... well ... okay. Goodnight, then," she mumbled, and turned around before he had a chance to answer. Perhaps he said something to her back as she walked away. She couldn't tell. There was a buzzing in her ears, and she felt she was walking through a thick fog. Like something clung to her legs, making it difficult to lift her feet.

Somehow, without really paying attention, she made it to her room, and sat down on her bed. She didn't understand what just happened. He had never said no. Neither had she. After that first night, whenever they could be together, they would be together. Lately they hadn't even made an effort to act professional around the others. Now ... this. Fumbling with her belt pouch, her fingers eventually closed around the earring. The jewel-encrusted hoop glimmered between her fingers.

Falling sideways, she drew her legs up and curled into a ball, still staring at the earring. When he gave it to her, she had almost asked him if it meant something. Almost. But she hadn't. And clearly it didn't. Or at least, if it had a meaning, it was one she didn't understand, and he wouldn't speak of.

Questions whirled in her mind. Was this to do with Taliesen? With ... Rinna? Or had he found someone else? She thought of what he had been like after Orzammar, when he wouldn't be intimate with her because of what had happened with Morrigan. Surely, if he had met someone else who wasn't interested in sharing him with her, he would simply tell her? And if that were the case, why had he given her that earring - was it a parting gift? Was he trying to repay her? How could he possibly think she wanted to be repaid?

_Why do I care so much, anyway?_ She closed her eyes, pushing back the tears. Eventually she fell asleep, earring hidden in the palm of her hand.

 

She had resolved to speak with him the next day, and he the same, but they never got the chance. Instead, they had to rescue a queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning: Things are about to take a turn for the darker. But as I've previously said in a comment, there will be a happy ending. And for those of you here for the smut, there will be a couple more scenes at least.


	26. Fort Drakon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroes have been betrayed and a rescue mission is mounted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I understand the need for some levity toward the end of the game, the fact that if you end up in Fort Drakon and elect to be rescued you get treated to one of the _funniest_ experiences in the game galls me a bit. Fort Drakon is set up to be absolutely terrifying. Piles of tortured bodies, people. PILES. And then they just make a joke of it. So here we go - Fort Drakon, reimagined. As previously mentioned, things are about to take a turn for the darker.
> 
>  
> 
> _CONTENT NOTICE: Nothing too graphic in here but there is mentioned torture and implied rape. First two scenes are safe. Future chapters will deal with emotional repercussions but not contain anything graphic._

"Do what you must to get them talking. We need to know their plans, who they're working with, how they contact Orlais..."

Elena opened her eyes at the grating voice, blinking and squinting against flickering torchlight. Her vision was blurred and her head pounded with pain. She reached instinctively for magic to dull the throbbing ache and ... and nothing. She gasped and gulped with sudden panic, tried again and again to call for the power that, for better or worse, had shaped her life and landed her here in this dungeon, and it would not come. A keening moan passed her cracked lips and she heard Alistair's voice calling for her. She felt strong arms around her.

"Elena! She needs water. Give us some water, will you?!"

"Do what you must," the voice repeated, ignoring them. It was familiar; she thought she must have heard it before. She heard retreating footfalls and the murmur of voices, then her surroundings disappeared into a fog of misery.

The world faded in and out of existence, but the pain wouldn't leave, and eventually Elena forced herself to open her eyes and focus on Alistair's worried face hovering over hers. It was difficult, for sometimes her vision split into a prism or blurred so much that her eyes watered. Pulsing threads of pain radiated through her skull from the back of her head. Still, Alistair's relief was palpable and she tried to smile for him. "Hey big brother," she croaked.

"Oh, you're awake!" Alistair exclaimed. "I was starting to worry."

She tried to sit up properly, and Alistair helped her. They were in their smallclothes. Though a petty thing to worry about at the moment, her arms moved instinctively to shield her bare chest. That was when she noticed the cold, dead weight around her wrists.

"They ... the ... I can't reach my magic," she whispered, staring at the manacles. They hummed to her with quiet potential, matte gems and lyrium set around their perimeter in a pattern that might have been meaningful to her, had she ever studied the arts of magic suppression. The metal clinging to her slender limbs seemed heavier than it should. Or perhaps, she was weaker than she thought. For a dizzying moment, she wondered how much she truly relied on magic, if perhaps she had been using it as a crutch all her life without even knowing it herself.

Alistair grunted. "Figures. Seemed strange they'd chain you up and not me."

"Are you alright?"

"I've been worse. I'll be better still when we get out of here."

Elena looked around gingerly, pain flaring whenever she moved her head too quickly. She took in her surroundings. Stone walls, metal bars, a thick wooden door. A filthy pallet, a filthier bucket. The smell of smoky torches, human waste and dried blood. Slowly she began to pick out components of the background noise: A weeping woman, distant screams, the clink and rasp of metal on metal, doors slamming. The air was thick with terror.

Suddenly she realised where she had heard the voice before: At Ostagar, the first time, and shortly after they arrived in Denerim, the second. Teyrn Loghain. He had been right outside that door, and they had been powerless to do anything. And now he was gone, having left them to the questionable mercies of his men at arms. She found herself wondering at the fact that they were still alive, and thought of what he had said. How did they contact Orlais? Leliana had said something about a search for Orlesian spies ... was he truly that paranoid?

And if so, to what lengths would they go to satisfy his fearful delusions?

She swallowed, working up some saliva to wet her lips. "The others are coming," she said faintly, as much to convince herself as to reassure Alistair. "Don't worry."

 

"Eamon! I may have done a terrible thing!"

Zevran almost laughed. "What's this? She throws her saviour to the wolves, and now she has second thoughts?" He flexed his shoulders, wincing at the pain from where one of Cauthrien's men had slammed the edge of his shield into his arm. He wondered how Elena was doing, recalling the frightfully loud crack as a sword's pommel connected with the back of her skull. Elena had been so shocked at Anora's betrayal that she had barely started casting when they were attacked. The moment she was knocked out the battle had been over, the rest of them quickly swarmed and overwhelmed by the guards. Had she had an opportunity to heal? Was she conscious?

He didn't ask himself if she was alive. She had to be. He hadn't had the chance to tell her ... She had to be alive.

Arl Eamon was shaking his head and exclaimed, "What in Andraste's name has happened? Are you alright?"

Of course he would ask that. Anora was the queen. Elena and Alistair were dragged off to some prison, but Eamon worried about the queen, even though she was clearly very much alive, free, and capable of making excuses. Politicians. Zevran had never cared for them, and now he had yet another reason to consider them a waste of breathable air. All they were good for were paying you to kill each other off.

"The Wardens have been captured," Anora confessed.

At least she had the decency to look somewhat regretful - not that it made him any less eager to kill her. "I'm still waiting for a reason not to slit her throat and toss her in the river," he said conversationally, flexing his hands until the leather of his gloves creaked. Let no one say he was an unreasonable man. "I haven't heard it yet."

"What?" The Arl's eyes twitched back and forth between them. It was unclear to Zevran whether he was more distraught or confused. He found himself wanting to break the man's sizeable nose and then force him to whistle through it. "How could this happen?"

"Nevermind that." Anora waved the question away and quickly changed the subject. So much for second thoughts, then. "The question is how to free her."

Well, that at least they could agree on. Zevran opened his mouth to seize on the topic, but Arl Eamon interrupted him: "Surely you mean _them_ , your Highness? We need Alistair, too."

"Yes. Of course I meant Alistair, too," Anora lied dismissively. Why did they even bother with this charade? The queen continued before Eamon could derail her further. "Cauthrien will take her to Fort Drakon. Getting in will be no small feat."

Zevran found his eyes wandering once again to the queen's throat. "Perhaps if you give me some pointers, you may yet survive this," he suggested.

The queen stiffened, turning to face him. There was no mistaking the way she stared down her perfect nose, looking him over as if he were a disobedient dog and she was judging whether he was worth his keep. "You would kill your queen? Are you her ... _consort_ , then? Or have you some other excuse to threaten regicide?" she said icily.

He returned her stare with one every bit as cold as her own. "You are not 'my' queen and I owe you no allegiance. The Warden is imprisoned, and I would see her returned to freedom, alive and unharmed. Why I care is none of your business."

"Children!" Wynne broke in. Zevran started slightly, nearly having forgotten her presence. His eyes still on Anora's face, he found some vague satisfaction in how her eyes twitched irritably at Wynne's tone. The mage continued, unperturbed, "If they are in Fort Drakon, we need to get them out."

Zevran held Anora's gaze for a few tense moments, then turned abruptly. He leaned against a table, crossing his arms. "Breaking and entering happens to be one of my specialities."

"And why am I not surprised," Anora snorted. Then she drew herself up, setting her face in her usual look of calm composure. "Fort Drakon is immense. You will need to know where they are kept. Erlina has plenty of contacts; I will see what strings we can pull. They will be kept alive for questioning, most likely, so we have some little time to formulate a plan. Do you have a healer at your disposal?"

"I am a healer," Wynne said. Now that he looked at her, he saw the worry lines on her face. She looked older than ever, and there was a firm, angry set to her mouth that he hadn't seen before. And here he had thought she disapproved of him - clearly, he had never made her anywhere near as angry as Anora had done today. Somehow, that was comforting.

"Then you should go with him, in case they are injured," the queen said. The tone of her voice suggested a command, rather than advice. "As much as he cares for the Warden, somehow I doubt he would be able to carry both her and Alistair out of there."

 

Hiding in a shadowed nook, they held their breath as the guards walked past. Once the two men had disappeared into a room further down the passage and closed the door, Zevran dashed forwards, Wynne right behind him. They quickly reached the cell from which they had heard Alistair's hoarse voice telling the guards to piss off but moments before. He picked the lock (it was robust, simple, and came undone in a moment) and threw the door open.

"Ah, my dear Warden, did you miss me?"

Zevran's grin faltered as he took in the scene before him, and he dropped the bundle of equipment he had been carrying. Beside him, Wynne gasped.

Alistair's eyes met his; they were bloodshot and puffy. He was cradling an unconscious Elena in his arms. There were smears of blood everywhere - judging from the fresh cuts on his body it was mostly Alistair's. Elena lacked visible wounds but looked battered and brusied. There were dark rings around her arms from where someone had gripped her, and ... other marks that ... His chest constricted and he found himself nailed to the floor while Wynne rushed forward to lay her hands on man and girl both.

The glow of healing magic filled the cell and Wynne breathed a relieved sigh. "She's alive. You'll both be okay but ... by the Maker, she's..." Wynne's eyes flitted between Elena and Alistair. "Alistair ... what happened here?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Bit of torture," Alistair began hoarsely, trying desperately to stay in character. He took a breath as if to continue, but no words came, just a small pained noise, and he averted his eyes. Eventually he managed, "Let's get out of here. Please."

Wynne turned her head, cradling Elena's manacled wrists in her hands. "Zevran, can you get these off her? They are suppressing her magic, but they should not be magically sealed. A regular lockpick should do."

He nodded briskly, unbound from the spell that seemed to have kept him from moving or speaking. It took far longer to pick the lock than it should, and he frowned at how his fingers trembled. Closing his eyes for a moment, he forced his boiling mind to be still and cool. If they were to make it out of here alive, there was no room for upset feelings.

While he removed the manacles, Wynne was back at her healing magic. "I cannot heal you fully," she explained to Alistair, "or I won't be of any use for escaping. You should be able to fight, though there may be some pain."

Alistair nodded and eased Elena into a sitting position. She whimpered, opening her eyes and blinking at them dazedly. Her bruises had faded somewhat under Wynne's magical touch, and Alistair's wounds had closed, but it did very little to make them look healthy. There was still blood and filth everywhere, and their faces were pale and drawn. Zevran found his eyes drawn to where Alistair's hand rested on Elena's shoulder. On three of his fingers, the nails were missing.

When the manacles came off, Elena's confused expression cleared somewhat. She drew a shuddering sigh, closing her eyes for a moment as she rubbed her wrists. Her skin was livid where the manacles had touched her, her joints swollen, but her hands were already glowing with her own magic and the swelling receding. Wynne uncorked a small bottle of potent lyrium and put it to the Warden's lips, and she swallowed eagerly.

"Here," Zevran said, reaching for the bundle he dropped by the door. "We found your things. We brought water, too. You get ready, I'll keep watch."

He stepped outside the cell and let his eyes roam the corridor outside. Still and cool. He had to be still and cool. He let the pond of his mind freeze over, pushing his emotions into such a deep and hidden place that the memory of blood oozing slowly down Elena's bruised thighs couldn't touch him.

 

"What's in there?" Alistair whispered, and they all paused outside the closed door to listen to the voices inside. There were thuds and raucous laughter, mostly male but with a few female voices joining the general cheer.

"I think it's a break room for off-duty guards," Wynne whispered. "We saw the guards that left your cell go inside, earlier." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wished them unspoken. The look Alistair and Elena gave each other chilled her.

They said nothing. Elena merely downed another bottle of lyrium while Alistair kicked the door open and stepped back. The air thickened as she gathered magic to her, using the precious few moments of confusion among the guards to harness immense power. Wynne took an involuntary step back, the heat and the intense concentration of mana tearing at her.

Then the room was an inferno, screams reverberating down the halls as the people inside burned. Elena's outstretched hand trembled slightly with the effort of keeping the blaze alight. Her face was hard as ice, eyes reflecting the flames. One poor soul managed to stumble out the door and Zevran quickly put him out of his misery. When the screams quieted and the stench of charred flesh filled the hallway, the Warden relented.

"So much for stealth," the assassin shrugged. Wynne glanced at him, tried to glean some emotion - any emotion - from his expression, and failed. His eyes were on Elena, face impassive.

Elena was already moving down the passage, the air around her crackling with magic as she prepared to meet the guards whose footsteps and shouts could be heard approaching. Coughing from the thick, acrid smoke now billowing out of the torched room, Wynne turned toward Alistair, her eyebrows raised beseechingly. "Why?" she rasped. "We could have gotten farther without notice! _What did they do?_ "

"They tried to make me talk."

She hadn't wanted to ask. What she had felt when healing Elena's body ... she didn't want to ask. But she had to. She clutched desperately at his arm. "But what did they do to _her?_ "

He stared at her for a moment, his usually bright eyes hollow, then shook her off and turned to follow Elena. Flatly and without turning around, he repeated, "They tried to make me talk."


	27. Iron and ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Elena chooses her way.

Tranquillity.

It would be easier: Nothing would matter. She would still feel discomfort and pain, of course. She would be hungry and thirsty and tired. But she wouldn't care.

It would be easier.

 

There was a faint click as the door closed behind the queen. As though she had worried she would somehow make things worse if she left too loudly. Alistair snorted. As angry as he was with her over her betrayal, fact was he couldn't bring himself to be properly furious.

His fury had been useless in the fort. It seemed pointless to waste it on anyone but Loghain, now.

Staring at his hand, he wondered if his nails would grow back. What could you tear out of a man without damaging him permanently? There was still a small, hollow space inside him that was Duncan and his Grey Warden brothers. Sometimes he would think about them until he ached, worrying and picking at it as if it were a scabbed wound on his soul.

He supposed at some point it would close completely and become a scar. It seemed a terrible thought, somehow blasphemous, that losing Duncan wouldn't hurt so much anymore. Then again, he knew Duncan wouldn't want him to spend his life moping about it...

He sighed and rose, rolling his shoulders. Maybe he should find Zevran, ask if he wanted to do some sparring. Now there was a man in need of letting off some steam.

His back and joints ached but worked just fine. His nails would probably grow back. At least Wynne said so. His wounds were healed, fresh scars the only physical reminder of their time in the dungeon. He had lost nothing other than a bit of blood.

Or so he hoped. When he had gone to see Elena, she wasn't there.

Oh, she was physically present ... but she wasn't Elena.

 

If she was made tranquil, she wouldn't be able to defend herself.

Until Fort Drakon, she had never been helpless. Not even as a child. Always the elements had been within reach, ready to rise up and defend her. She had been mana-starved and frightened out of her mind, she had been disgusted and bereft of hope and afraid to go to sleep because of the demons waiting for her in the Fade - but she had never been helpless.

Would she trade her only means of defense for the absence of fear? Would she trade her only means of revenge?

Someone rapped on her door. Elena blinked, coming back to the world. Her room was cold; from the open window came the hiss of a steady drizzle of rain. She tried to remember when she last had seen the sun without a layer of clouds obscuring it. It must have been before Taliesen.

She called up a small flame on her palm, watched it flicker in the breeze. How could her hands be so white? They should be filthy. The heat of the flame touched her flesh and she thought of what people smelled like when they burned. Meat. _We're all meat._

_This is the world we're trying to save._

Once more there was knocking. Two quick, decisive taps, then one slightly more timid, as if the person outside faltered. "Warden? Elena? Are you in there? ... May I come in?"

There had been a steady stream of visitors throughout the day and the door remained unlocked. She had wanted to keep them out, but it was as though none of her friends would believe she was alive unless they saw it for themselves. So she suffered them to visit her. She even put on a gown and got out of bed for them. Thankfully, none of them had stayed long, driven away by her silence all. Someone had brought her a meal, which still sat cold and untouched upon a table.

"Enter," she said, closing her hand on the flame to extinguish it.

Queen Anora stepped through the door and closed it behind her. Elena turned to look at her, vaguely pleased to see how her regal stature wavered momentarily as their eyes met. Anora's hands grabbed at each other, as though she was looking for support in the only place where she could possibly find it.

"I am glad to see you are up and ... out of bed," Anora said.

Elena inclined her head. She was indeed out of her bed. She had moved all of ten feet, to one of the chairs standing close to the window. There was a blanket draped over her lap. She had been sitting there for the last couple of hours, watching the carpet grow wetter as the occasional gust of wind drove rain into the room. Now she stared at Anora instead.

After a long, tense silence, the queen said, "Look, I ... I spoke with Wynne about what happened and ... I want to ask your forgiveness." She swallowed, looking down for a moment. "I thought only to avoid getting captured. I did not know what ... what would happen to you."

Elena kept staring. It amused her to see Anora squirm as silence swallowed her words. She remembered how one of the tutors at the Circle Tower had done this whenever someone was suspected of something illicit. He had had the most terrifying silences, that man ... and now she couldn't remember his name. He was probably dead, anyway. She had probably killed him herself. Another dead body in the Warden's wake. Just meat.

So Anora claimed she hadn't known what would happen. Elena thought she probably still had no idea what had.

Anora took a few steps closer, inhaling and exhaling several times, as though searching for the right thing to say, and failing. When she finally managed to speak, her words came in a disjointed jumble. "I ... I may be the queen, but ... my father kept a lot of things from me. He thinks I'm still a little girl and probably wanted to ... I had heard that they practise torture at the fort but I never thought ... not you, not Alistair, I truly didn't believe they ... Elena, please, you must believe me." Her veneer was cracking, her voice strangled and her eyes glazed with tears.

At last, Elena released her, looking out at the darkening world outside her window, leaving Anora standing at the edge of her vision. After a little while, she said, "Will you ask Alistair's forgiveness, as well?"

"I already did. He said he would consider it, if you forgave me first." Anora paused briefly, the continued with a sigh, "Well. That's not entirely true. At first he laughed at me and nearly hit me. But then I think he realised that I was sincere, and ... well."

The queen plucked at the rings gracing her fingers. Elena considered forgiveness.

She wasn't sure what it entailed. The way she had always seen things, either someone hurt you on purpose or simply didn't care, in which case forgiving them would be entirely irrational, or they hurt you by accident, in which case there was nothing to forgive other than possibly being a bit stupid. As such, forgiveness seemed like a useless construct. So the question she had to answer wasn't whether she could forgive Anora, but whether she thought she was a person whose virtues (or usefulness) were greater than her faults.

It seemed to her now that ignorance perhaps should be considered a very grave moral failing. Could regret outweigh it?

She gestured toward the empty chair beside hers. Anora hesitated a moment and then sat down, back straight, eyes large and haunted. Elena suspected that looked rather alike right now, just with different colouring. The idea tickled her, somehow. That they were the same. Perhaps there was some truth to it, and not just superficially. In the end, they both did what they thought had to be done. Perhaps it was time she took a page from the Mac Tir book and learned to be a little more ruthless about it.

After all, in the end, they were all meat.

When they first met Anora at Howe's estate, a thought had struck her, brilliant in its simplicity. She had nearly forgotten about it, politics overshadowed by pain and other more pressing matters. Now here Anora was, stiff-backed and regal and reminding her of the task she had set out to fulfill. What did her feelings really matter in the larger scheme of things? What did Anora's?

She couldn't be tranquil, but she could be hard and cold. She gathered the torn shreds of her mind together and drew herself up to match the queen's posture. "Say we forgive you. What then?"

Anora cleared her throat. "I would welcome your support for my throne." When Elena didn't respond, she forged ahead, suggesting an alliance where she would add her voice to Elena's in the landsmeet, vastly bolstering her chances at defeating Loghain. In return, Elena would support Anora as queen of Ferelden.

Quite as expected, then. Elena almost smiled. She gave Anora a piercing look, wondering if the queen had anticipated what would come next, or if she would be surprised. She said, "Why not marry Alistair and rule beside him?"

 

Elena no longer asked him to join her at night. Zevran wondered if he had himself to blame, for having refused her invitation on the eve of that fateful day when they went to rescue the queen - or if it wouldn't have mattered. Since Fort Drakon, she was different. She wouldn't speak of what happened to her, and Alistair had said little enough, but the change was obvious. It was like seeing her come out of the Deep Roads all over, except ... except that time, she had been brittle, full of pain and doubt.

Now, she was iron and ice.

Wynne had insisted they take a few days' rest, and Elena complied. On the first day she shut herself in. On the second day she left her room, joined them for meals. Thereafter, she acted her regular self. She smiled and conversed, she teased Alistair and pestered Leliana for stories - though the only person she spent any private time with anymore was Morrigan. Then, at Anora's suggestion, she went to find out what was going on in the elven alienage. Faced with Tevinter slavers she gave every show of her usual righteous indignation before burning them to a crisp.

But to Zevran, it was obvious that she was not herself. She was like an instrument slightly out of tune, or a blade with its point of balance just a little bit too far from the hilt. Though she still wore the face of a child, there was no longer any mistaking her for one. He knew he wasn't the only one who noticed: Leliana saw it too, and Wynne frowned whenever she laid eyes on the girl. But she refused to speak, and they didn't push her. She refused his company, and he didn't insist.

She was all iron, and they had a war to fight.

And yet. He yearned for her. He thought of the way she had looked at him when she accepted the earring, eyes wide and shining. That quizzical, faintly hopeful smile she had worn, a softness that was gone from her face now. She hadn't asked him what the gift meant. He thought of how her face had fallen when he told her 'no', mere hours later.

How he cursed his cowardice, now.

After supper on the night before the landsmeet, Zevran found himself face to face with her, and before he knew it the words were out of his mouth: "May I accompany you to your room?" He forced himself to meet her eyes, and suddenly realised they were almost of a height these days. He wondered how he had missed her growth, before - perhaps it just hadn't seemed pertinent until now. In his arms, she had always seemed so small.

She looked at him, drawing out the silence long enough that he almost started fidgeting, and then gave him a small smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "No, Zevran. I have things to do." She reached out, touching his cheek with cool fingers. "You'll be there tomorrow, at the landsmeet?"

He swallowed and managed to return her smile. "Yes. Of course."

 

"Can you feel it?" Morrigan said. "Can you feel the shape of the bones, the curve of the talons?"

Elena breathed deeply, sinking further into some heretofore unexplored space inside her mind. "Yes," she whispered. "I can feel it."

Morrigan stood close behind her. She could feel the heat of her body against her back, contrasting the cold wind in her face. There was something intimate, almost tender about it. Gentle hands slid down her arms, guiding her to lift them. "Spread your wings," the witch was whispering. "Feel the breeze caress your feathers."

 _I feel it_ , Elena said, but the words never left her mouth, because she had no mouth, and Morrigan was no longer holding her arms because she had no arms ... "Fly," Morrigan laughed, and she opened her eyes and flung herself from the battlement. She had no idea how to fly, but this new body of hers did, and the wind that had previously fought her with its icy bite was now friendly embrace, lifting her high above the jumble of houses that was Denerim.

She was aware of Morrigan following her, a large black raven riding the wind like a ship at sea, watching over her. Elena wondered if she was proud of her, and whether she worried that she would lose her shape and plummet to the ground. She had approached her weeks ago, asking to be taught the ways of shifters. When she had said that she wanted to learn a bird shape first, the witch had cautioned her, warned her of the risks, but she was adamant and Morrigan gave in without much argument. Since Fort Drakon, they had practised every night.

And now, the endless sky was hers.

She had chosen the form of a kestrel, and as a kestrel she knifed through the air, diving and circling and gaining height and diving again until she was giddy. Below her, the Drakon river glowed ochre in the low light as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The city looked so small like this. Her bird of prey eyes easily picked out people moving through the streets, lighting lamps and torches against the coming of night.

Suddenly she thought she understood how Morrigan saw them: Small people in a small city, trudging through mud and petty grievances ... How paltry their lives must be, that they never experienced how truly immense the world was, how impossibly far away the horizon.

Lifting her gaze, she saw the vastness of the ocean, the mountains to the south, the river snaking into the forest to the west ... It struck her that she could go, right now, she could go away and never have to see this place and its people again. And she could go with a clean conscience: She had done so much already. She had built an army against the Blight, she had saved Arl Eamon and given him all the ammunition he needed to win the landsmeet, she had negotiated a political marriage that would give Ferelden not just a good king but a competent queen.

She had truly gone above and beyond what anyone could have expected of her, and now the horizon was there, all around her, hers if she willed it.

Of her companions, only Morrigan had any idea what she could do now; the rest wouldn't know where she had gone or how to find her. Templars might hunt her, but how could they possibly catch her when she could disappear into the open sky? The taint would call her eventually, but until then, no one could try to force another sacrifice upon her. Whether people lived or not, whether they were free or not, would no longer be up to her - she could leave them to forge their own future.

She cried out triumphantly, whirling in the air. She was _free_.

And with freedom came choice. She could choose to flee the Blight, or face it and possibly die. She could choose to leave her friends behind, or stand by them in the fight to come. She could choose to leave Loghain's fate to the landsmeet...

She had prepared the board, giving her side every advantage, and she could leave the game for her allies to finish as they would.

Or she could keep playing, and play to win.


	28. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein an Orlesian spy and a Fereldan king seeks solace in each other's company.

The door to Alistair's room was open, but Leliana still paused on the threshold and gave the doorframe a couple of quiet taps with her knuckles. The freshly elected king was sitting on his bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and dragging his hands through his hair repeatedly, quite oblivious to the world around him. "Alistair? May I come in?" she asked softly.

He looked up, lips slightly pursed. "That depends. Are you going to be all 'Oh m'lord ser king, let me grovel in your glorious presence'?" He flopped a hand limply around as he spoke, rolling his eyes.

"I hadn't planned on it. Do you want me to?"

"No - no, I really, really don't," he sighed. "Please, come in."

She closed the door behind her and walked over to sit beside him on the bed. "You're not crowned yet, anyway."

"True, but I might as well be, the way some people treat me. Especially the servants! They even tried to take off my bloody armor for me. Like I'm some fat Orlesian lordling who's never had to unbuckle a belt in his life." He had donned his best armor for the landsmeet, polished to a fine gleam, and now it lay discarded in a corner. To the slightly muted celebratory feast at Eamon's estate, he had worn clothing even simpler than usual, as if to show them all where his heart lay. He sighed. "I miss people telling me I'm an idiot, it was way easier to relate to than respect and deference. Why did I agree to any of this?"

Leliana knew the question was rhetorical. If anything, Alistair had seemed to warm up to the idea of being king lately. Over the last month or two, something had changed in the way he carried himself, the way he talked. It was as though he had looked in the mirror and seen the man his friends knew he could be, not the man he thought he was, and was now trying to live up to that image. But here and now, he was once more the callow youth she had met in Lothering. She supposed the fact that the future he had once dreaded was now becoming real, that if he survived the Blight he would be crowned king, had finally hit him and was making him reel a bit.

Still, rhetorical though the question was, sometimes even true-hearted heroes needed reminding of their who's and what's and why's. Some would have told him that he had to be king because it was his right by birth. But that wasn't Alistair. Instead, Leliana said, "Because you know it's the right thing to do. Because you will be good for this country."

He grunted, chin jutting in a most un-kingly pout. "I'm sort of regretting handing over the reins to Elena. If I'd known she'd put me on the throne ... and have me marry Anora! Of all people..."

Leliana couldn't help but giggle. "Anora is a good ruler, and beautiful to boot. I'm sure you'll manage." She patted his shoulder gently.

"I'd rather have married you, to be honest," he said, glancing at her as his lips parted in a grin. "At least I know you're not constantly comparing me to my dead brother."

"My king!" Leliana exclaimed theatrically and clutched at her heart. "That is _most_ inappropriate. Don't you know I'm an Orlesian spy?"

"Well. Yes," he replied, leaning back on the bed, propped up on his elbows. "Shouldn't you get to work in that case? Did you come to seduce me into divulging state secrets, or just tell me to buck up?" His voice had lost all of its whine. The way he looked at her, eyes half-lidded and with his lips curling in a slightly goofy but not unattractive smirk, Leliana had to stifle a giggle of surprise. He really had come a very long way since first they met.

She grinned at him and twisted around, throwing a leg across his lap so she could straddle him. "Actually I just came to check on you because you seemed so tense during dinner, but now that you mention it ... I suppose I should be _thorough_."

 

Alistair had nurtured some vague notion that since he was no longer a virgin (and at this point also sort of king), he would try to be a little more assertive should he ever get the opportunity to bed Leliana again. Or anyone else, for that matter. As it turned out, there was little room or indeed need for that. There was nothing vague about Leliana's own notions of what she wanted.

Before long he found himself on his back, gazing up at her lean, muscular body towering over him as she slowly lowered herself onto his cock. The sight was stunning, the sensations moreso. He relished the way the head of his cock parted her labia, the way her sex reshaped itself around him. The way she threw her head back and moaned, grinding her hips down as hidden muscles squeezed him. Why he had put sex off for so long, letting opportunities pass by without a second thought, he couldn't fathom. He suspected it was the fault of the Chantry.

Leliana began to rock her hips and Alistair heard himself moan. His eyes tried to close on their own accord but he forced them open, not wanting to miss a second of the gorgeous spectacle playing out before him. He put his hands on her hips, squeezing them as he helped her bring herself down on him. Eventually she fell forward, leaning on his shoulders and raising her hips slightly to allow him to move his. She grinned at him, teasing him with feathery kisses, goading him into thrusting faster, harder. Soon her whole body was shuddering with the impacts, and he grabbed her ass to keep her in place while he pounded into her.

He came with a long groan, his cock throbbing almost painfully as he filled her up with spurt after spurt of his seed. He couldn't recall when he had last emptied himself - his mind had been elsewhere, lately. And after what he had seen in Fort Drakon ... his mind twisted around the memory, and his arms went limp and fell to his sides.

Leliana was slumped on top of him, flexing the muscles of her sex around his manhood as if to milk him dry. When she placed a gentle kiss on his lips, he didn't respond. "Are you alright?" she whispered, frowning slightly.

"Yeah," he replied after a few long moments, tasting the word for truth. Was he alright? He didn't even know if it was possible to be. He might be dead soon, or he might be king. Whatever the case, he was different, and there never seemed to be time to get used to the changes. Perhaps there would be, once the Blight was ended. Until then...

He reached up and cupped her cheek. "Yeah, sorry. I'm fine and you're wonderful." He kissed her, a long, drawn-out affair that ended with her lying on her back, breathing heavily. "Let me repay the favour," he mumbled and drew apart from her enough that he could get a hand between her legs and show her that he had memorised every trick she taught him.

 

They had never turned down the lights, and so Leliana could watch Alistair as he dozed. Somehow he had made it through this whole year of battles without a single wound to mar his face, though there were plenty of scars elsewhere on his body. When he slept, dark lashes lay on smooth cheeks, his bronzed brow free of worry lines. The cut of his jaw was a man's, as was the stubble that often covered it, but he still looked like a boy to her. A boy who would be king.

Short-lived as this little affair of theirs was bound to be, she didn't regret it, and she hoped he wouldn't either. If nothing else, she had taught him a few skills that may prove to be quite valuable, if he was to produce an heir. She smiled fondly and planted a kiss on his temple.

He started awake, blinking repeatedly. "Mmh. Oh. Did I fall asleep? Damn. Sorry."

"You need to stop apologising all the time. Kings don't apologise," she chastised him. "Nor should they swear."

"Right. So-- ... I mean ... blast it. Argh. Damn you, woman!"

Leliana giggled and laid her head on his shoulder. She traced the outlines of his muscles with her fingers, but her eyes were on his scars. They had never talked about what happened at Fort Drakon, but she recognised the marks of torture when she saw them. She wondered if Elena bore similar scars. The thought was a painful knot in her throat. Alistair was himself again - inasmuch as any of them were, at this point. Elena was most definitely not.

"Alistair ... what happened at the Landsmeet..."

He snorted. "Aren't bards supposed to be expert pillow-talkers? I'm pretty sure politics doesn't count as good pillow talk."

"On the contrary," Leliana chuckled. "This is when political secrets are most easily extracted. But I really just wanted ... Ah, nevermind."

"What's on your mind, Leliana?"

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'm worried about Elena. The way she handled the landsmeet ... and that duel. And the execution. I have never seen her like that. I mean - Loghain yielded! He seemed to have seen the error of his ways, and she killed him. He obviously deserved it, but it's so unlike her. She's been so distant since Fort Drakon, so ... so hard."

And she wouldn't talk to her anymore, not about anything other than the weather or their mission for the day, or sometimes asking her to tell a story. Leliana found it hard to admit to herself how much that hurt. She realised she didn't have the worst of it; Elena had pushed all of them away except possibly Morrigan (though Maker knew what those two talked about, really). She had pushed _Zevran_ away. Leliana wondered if the rest of them were even aware that he was no longer spending his nights with the Warden, instead having found an empty bunk in the servants' quarters. She thought of the look in his eyes as he watched Elena - and he was always watching her, probably not even aware of it himself. His pain was clear as day to Leliana, if not to anyone else.

He had been to the fort. She wondered what he had seen.

"Alistair ... what happened in there?" she whispered.

"...no."

He didn't tense up. It was more as though he simply stopped. Not a muscle moved, other than the slow, steady beating of his heart, and even that seemed to falter.

"No, what?" Leliana prompted after a little while, her voice sounding far smaller than she had intended.

"I can't talk about it." His words came out strangled. When she looked up at him, his eyes were pointed at the ceiling. "Ask me about anything else, anything at all, but not that."

Though he said nothing, it told her all she needed. The knot of worry turned into a chokehold. Leliana held herself still and focused on breathing steadily. The last thing she wanted to do was add her own pain to his. The last thing she wanted was to tear open the scars of her own past and live through all that again, through her friends.

"Alistair," she managed eventually, "I'm so sorry."

"Yes. I know. It's okay," he sighed. "Come here." He hugged her tight, bringing his hand up to her chin and tilting her head so he could kiss her. So they sought solace in each other, a brief respite from a harsh reality. Soon they would make for Redcliffe and the gathered armies.


	29. Unravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Elena realises she's not done yet.

_Consider Zevran. What do you think he would advise if he knew the life of his beloved was at risk? I think you know..._

Elena stood in front of Alistair's closed door. The grain of the wood reminded her of a stream, every knot a jutting stone making the water roll and tumble. Mere minutes ago, her direction had been set, her future decided. Riordan had said he would make the final blow, but she knew it would be her. It was so obvious, so clear to her that this was when her life was to end. Her body would be meat and her mind would be released.

She had felt relieved, for a moment. Free.

Then Morrigan had waited for her in her bedroom, the jutting rock in the brook of her life.

 _Consider Zevran_ , she had said.

She had said a great many things, of course. Appealed to her presumed desire to live. To the fact that she couldn't possibly allow Alistair to die. That Alistair might take all the glory. Elena had almost laughed at that bit. She had spent so much time with Morrigan lately, the only one among her closer friends not to look at her with pain or pity. By now the witch really should have known her better. Perhaps she would have felt hurt, if it wasn't for Morrigan's next words.

_Consider Zevran ... the life of his beloved..._

She had pushed him away. She had pushed all of them away, but the others, she could at least take small doses of. The way _he_ looked at her after Fort Drakon had been unbearable. The thought of him touching her was worse.

He was too close, almost under her skin, the only person to ever really see all of her. And if she let him in again, if he _saw_ her again, she knew what he would see: Meat, hunted by demons, poisoned by the darkspawn taint, smeared with the blood of countless enemies. In that dungeon she had been stripped of what remained of her personhood. Her integrity had been torn to shreds. She was sullied, broken, and she could be no one's pet.

Being meat was too painful, so she had turned herself to ice. She had pushed him away so that he couldn't melt it.

She had pushed him away and wished for him to have a happy life without her. Morrigan had asked her why, once, and her stony silence had made sure she never brought it up again.

_Consider Zevran. I think you know..._

But she hadn't known. She had fantasised, sometimes, that their game wasn't just a game, that the way he caressed her hair back from her face carried some other meaning, and then she had laughed at her own foolishness. She thought now of the desire demon, the only one to ever truly entice her, and Wynne's words afterwards: _It tried to tempt you with what you already have_. She hadn't known, and she hadn't dared to ask. Now Morrigan said it as if it were a matter of fact.

She hadn't known. Had they?

_His beloved._

Her hand went to her belt pouch. Somewhere at the bottom, an earring lay wrapped in a piece of silk. She had never asked him what it meant. And now Riordan said she might never know.

Because there wouldn't be time. Because she couldn't risk falling apart before the archdemon was dead.

Because, unless Riordan killed it first, she would be dead with it.

_I have a plan. A way out. The loop in your hole._

Steeling herself, she knocked on Alistair's door, and entered.

 

  
"...you're not joking. You're actually serious." He uncrossed his arms and stood up proper from where he had been leaning against the bedpost. Elena's face was impassive. Her eyes were large and black in the low light, and he found it difficult to meet her unwavering gaze. Alistair sighed, running a hand through his hair as he paced the short length of his room. "Wow, be killed by the archdemon or sleep with Morrigan. How does someone make that kind of choice?"

"One doesn't," Elena said quietly. She averted her eyes, a faraway look on her face. "One does what one has to do. There are never any choices, not really." She paused briefly, then turned her gaze back at him as she said, "I won't lie to you. The ritual will produce a child."

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to glare at her. " _What?!_ I ... I must be hearing things, but are you telling me to _impregnate_ Morrigan in some kind of magical sex rite?" Elena just stared, her jaw tense. "Elena ... what is the matter with you?"

"I don't know. What is the matter with me?"

Even though she had grown in the last year, she still looked tiny in his eyes. Yet her posture was challenging. This was how she had faced down Loghain at the landsmeet; shoulders squared, chin jutting defiantly, arms crossed. Eyes burning. It was a posture that said come at me - I can take you. And he knew she could, at that. If not for his templar training, he wouldn't stand a chance against her in a fair fight. There was a time when he would have backed down if she had looked at him like this, when he would have turned away and slunk off with his proverbial tail between his legs.

Now, he remembered Leliana's words, on their last night in Denerim. "All this ... manouvering," he began. "It's like I don't know who you are any more. You used to discuss things with me but since--" He interrupted himself. He couldn't speak of that. Not with Leliana, not with Elena, not with anyone. He tried anew: "Lately you've just forged on, without consulting anyone. I agreed to take the throne. Then I agreed to marry Anora, because I can see some sort of sense in it, even if she did throw us to the wolves to save her own skin. Then you execute Loghain, just like that--"

Her eyes blazed. He wasn't sure if it was just the way tension already lay thick in the air and made him imagine things, or if there was magic burning in them. Elena's voice was sharp: "Tell me, Alistair - what would you have done, in my stead?"

"I... uh." He felt his shoulders slump slightly. "I would have executed him."

Elena sucked in a breath through her nose. "So your first act as king elect would have been to kill the Hero of River Dane, the father of your future wife." As she spoke she walked over to the vanity and poured a cup of wine. She didn't drink it, didn't even pick it up. She just stared at it. "No. We both know he had to die. So I had to do it. Do you understand? _I had to do it._ "

She whipped around and pointed her eyes at him again. Now he was certain; there was definitely a very real light in them. Her hands were twitching. Like a caged and tormented animal, her soul roared at him. He swallowed and tried to relax his own posture, let his shoulders down. He hadn't wanted to upset her. Now he didn't want to challenge her further. Not that he thought she would truly attack him, not Elena. But ... no point in playing the odds.

What he really wanted was to hug her.

"... Okay," he said, changing tack. "But this ... this ritual. How can you expect me to ... this is Morrigan we're talking about. What if the child's some kind of demon?"

From her reaction, he didn't know if it had been the right choice of topic, or the wrong one. She slumped, her face scrunching up in a grimace of pain. " _I - don't - care!_ " she exclaimed, her voice cracking. Her eyes quickly glazed over with tears. "Brother, _please_. I thought I wanted to die, but ... I realised I'm not ready. Do you know how old I am? I don't know if I'm even eighteen yet! For ten years of my life, I never left Kinloch Hold. I saw the world through books. This past year ... that's all I've ever _lived_. That's _all_."

Alistair watched her crumble and ached to step forward, to wrap his arms around her, to protect her. But if it was one thing he had learned on this journey, it was that one couldn't protect people from the pain within. All you could do was support them if they wished it, and right now, Elena seemed ready to lash out at any attempt at closeness. She was coming undone, her carefully composed facade unravelling before his eyes, and he found himself having to fight off anger. Anger directed at her for not letting him share her burdens, at himself for having foisted them onto her in the first place. At the Maker, fate, or whatever uncaring forces that put them in this position to begin with. Again at himself, for having allowed himself to believe she was keeping it together.

Elena began to pace. She shoved her hands in her hair, messing up the bun that had already started to come loose. "You don't know who I am any more? Well, neither do I! I've no idea who I'm supposed to be when there is no archdemon to slay. But I want the chance to find out. There's so much world out there. I want to see it. If another thirty years is all I am going to get in this world, then _I will have them_."

"So Riordan will slay the demon, or I will!" he said desperately.

"No!" She stopped pacing, whirling around and advancing on him. "That is _not_ an option. Alistair, you _can't_ die! Not now, not after all this. Your kingdom needs you. _I_ need you. You're my _brother_." At the last word, her fists thumped into his chest. Tears were coursing down her face unheeded, her upturned face drawn into a furious frown, her voice shrill. Suddenly she looked far younger than her years. "Sure, Riordan can try, but what if he fails? Then it's up to us! We started this, together. We'll finish this, together. And when it's time, when the taint calls for us, we'll go into the Deep Roads, together." Her fists pounded on his chest, emphasising her words: "Do not! Deny me! This!"

"Elena," he rasped, catching her small hands in his own. He wrapped his arms around her, and they cried.

 

"Hey, so ... I thought you wanted to go travelling."

Elena took a shivering breath, wiping her eyes. She wasn't sure how much time had passed. Enough for her to calm down and collect her shattered self, stitching up the fabric of her being until she felt a semblance of control. This wasn't how it she had meant it to go, but she supposed that was alright. She had cried over her fear of dying, her fear of losing her brother or her life. That was proper. That was human. That was alright for him to see. In a way it had been cathartic, and she felt more stable for it. It brought to mind how it felt when Zevran broke her down so that she could be rebuilt into something stronger. Zevran ... she shook herself, reining in her mind to focus on Alistair's question.

She said, "Yes? I do."

They were sitting on Alistair's bed. He had picked her up at some point and carried her there. She had allowed it. Now he had his arm around her, and a small puzzled frown on his face. "So how are we gonna go into the Deep Roads together when it's time?"

"I said I wanted to go travelling, not that I wanted to run away for good. I'm coming back, you idiot!" She poked him in the ribs. "I mean, I'm sure Anora's great and all, but she has a kingdom to run. Someone has to keep an eye on you!"

"Hey! Ugh. Don't remind me. I'm still terrified of her."

Studying his face, she realised he was being completely honest. For a moment she actually felt sorry for him. "You know, I've talked to her quite a bit. After ... I wanted nothing to do with her at first. But I talked to her and I think she truly regrets what she did. She's very smart and resourceful, but there's a soft side too. She loved Cailan. I suspect you'll get along better than you think." She let her lips split into a grin in an attempt to defuse the situation somewhat. "And if there's no spark, I don't think she'll mind if you find that elsewhere, so long as you're discreet."

Alistair glanced at her. "No 'spark'? Are we talking about sex again? We are, aren't we?"

"You're learning!" she giggled.

"Heh, yeah. Speaking of. I guess we should go talk to Morrigan."

 

"Uh, Morrigan ... what are you doing?"

Morrigan paused with her lips hovering over Alistair's throat. What kind of a question was that? Wasn't it obvious what she was doing? She was good at this, she knew she was. Not even Alistair would be able to say differently when she was done with him. She frowned, drawing away, looking down on him. The room was quite dark since she blew out the candle; she had figured it would help him relax and think of ... whomever he might think of to make this easier. But her eyes adjusted quite well to the low light and she could see the uncertainty and discomfort written all over his face.

He cleared his throat nervously. "The ... kissing and stuff? Is that necessary?"

"Believe it or not," she said, choking down her irritation to keep it out of her voice, "I actually have no wish to traumatise you."

"I thought you just wanted. You know." He waved his hand in the air indistinctly. "To get pregnant."

"Yes, but--" She sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly. Getting off him, she sat on the edge of the bed, her back turned. Soon, he joined her there, sitting close enough that she could feel the heat from his body but not touching her. How could she explain any of this to him? Elena would espouse honesty, of course. But there were many ways to be honest. Eventually, she said, "Look, we may not get along. 'Tis no secret I have little love for you - but neither do I hate you. And we both call Elena sister. I know you are doing this for her, and I would not have you think of her with ... rancour, because of me."

"I ... see, I think," he said. When she looked at him, she thought it quite obvious that he didn't see at all. Some of the confusion had cleared, his face softening at the mention of Elena, but he was still frowning. "I won't, though. I mean, I won't be angry with Elena for anything you do to me. That, at least, I can promise."

Morrigan drew a deep breath and smoothed her hands down her bare thighs. The chill air was giving her goose flesh, and she rubbed her skin to bring some warmth into it. Quietly she said, "If your first time cannot be with a loved one, at least it should be pleasant. More pleasant than mine was, anyway."

Something dawned in Alistair's mind and the creases on his brow smoothed out. She half regretted having spoken. Whatever it was that he thought he understood about her, he might want to talk about it, and she most definitely did not want to talk to _him_ about it. She started to say something, but he interrupted her.

"It's not my first time, actually," he said. She rose her eyebrows in surprise, curiousity momentarily getting the better of her. When had he..? With whom? But this wasn't the time to probe, and he kept speaking in a low voice, looking at his hands all the while. "But ... truth be told, I see no reason that this should have to be less than pleasant for either of us. We might not see eye to eye on a lot of things ... but we've been through a lot together."

He looked up and gave her a smile. Reaching up as though to cup her cheek, he hesitated briefly when she stiffened and nearly pulled back. When she made herself relax, he placed it on her shoulder. He ran his thumb over her collarbone. The skin of his hand was tough and leathery but warm, and his touch gentle. This turn of events was ... confusing. The way he caressed her wasn't exactly loving, but it was ... familiar. He touched her as if he liked her. As if he cared. She swallowed, suddenly very glad she had blown out that candle so that he couldn't see the faint blush that now suffused her cheeks. Whether or not he actually cared, the idea that he might see her as in any way vulnerable was unacceptable.

When Alistair next spoke, he was very much himself again, and the familiarity of his cadence was oddly comforting. "I think we can put our differences aside for one night. Let's start over, and I won't be all weird this time. And then we can pretend this never happened for the rest of our lives."

He winked at her, and she found herself smiling slightly in response. Stupid, oafish man. Silly, foolish Alistair. Even now, even here, he was trying to do the Right Thing.

When he moved in to kiss her she didn't resist, and soon enough, she leaned into it.

 

"Zevran?"

Elena's voice was so soft that he barely heard it over the crackling of the fire. Zevran looked up to find her hovering uncertainly in the doorway. Her hair was down, her feet bare, and she held a dressing gown tightly wrapped around her body - she looked like she had been halfway to bed before she decided to join them in the sitting room. She seemed tired and her eyes were puffy, but there was something soft and open about her face. Something he hadn't seen in a while.

His chest tightened. He glanced at Leliana, who was beside him on a large settee in front of the fireplace. Everyone else had already gone to bed. The bard rose, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving it a small squeeze before she excused herself.

As she was about to pass Elena in the door, she paused. "We march tomorrow, then?" The Warden nodded mutely. Leliana wrapped her arms around her in a sudden hug. "I'm with you 'til the end. Let's give 'em hell," she said and planted a kiss on Elena's forehead. Then she left.

Zevran smiled slightly at Elena's bemused expression. "Would you like some mulled wine?" he offered, reaching to refill his own cup as well. Something within him always tensed in her presence these days, quivering like a bowstring, but he tried to appear relaxed. She seemed quite on edge herself, and he didn't want to make it worse. "It's flavoured with Rivaini spices. Very nice vintage, too." He watched her approach from the corner of his eye, waited until she perched on the edge of the sofa before giving her her cup.

She held it in both hands, as if warming them on the fragrant wine. Her hands were so small, all bird bones and skin so pale it was nearly transculent. He longed to wrap his own around them, share his own warmth. He longed to hold her again. The longing filled him up to the point where there wasn't even room for him to feel stupid about it, anymore.

"Zev..." She took a deep breath and held it in, closing her eyes before exhaling. As she spoke, she looked into her wine. "Zev, I ... understand if it's too late now, but ... I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I pushed you away. It's ... I don't really want to talk about it. I might never be able to ... but I shouldn't have pushed you away like that." She glanced at him, eyes shimmering in the firelight.

He swallowed and said, "You need not apologise." After all, he had sort of done the same to her, hadn't he? Only for very different reasons. But he certainly didn't feel like he had any right to be angry or disappointed. And now, something swelled in his chest, a strange lightness. Relief?

Hope?

"I..." She hesitated, twirling the cup slowly in her fingers. "I'm not ready for ... I will need some time. But I want ... I wish..." Another deep breath. "Zev, when all this is over, if ... if we're still alive ... will you stay with me?"

He looked at her. Elena sat on the thick upholstery stiffly as if it were wood, leaning forward slightly with her slender shoulders hunched. Her neck was bent, eyes downcast and fastened on the cup she held in her lap. A blush was spreading over her cheeks. There were dark circles under her eyes and her hair was a mess and she looked uncomfortable and insecure, and he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Would he stay with her? So many times, he had tried and failed to talk to her about the future. He wasn't sure what any of this meant or if he even dared to open up his heart again but was willing to try anyway. Would he stay with her?

"Of course," he said simply.

Elena sighed, relaxing her posture. He moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders. After a moment, she leaned into him with her head resting on his shoulder, as she had many times before.

"Tell me a story?" she mumbled. "Maybe something from Antiva?"

"Hmm. Did I ever tell you about the Orlesian diplomat and the winery? No? Well, there was an interesting mark. She appeared to be all doe-eyes and ridiculous shoes and frilly dresses, but she was sharp as a razor for all that..."

Tomorrow they would march for Denerim, and the end of their quest. If they were still alive when this was all over, there would be time for all those words unsaid. Then, they could figure out what exactly it was they had. For now, having it was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why exactly but it was important to me to make sure Morrigan and Alistair had a nicer time than the look on his face implied...
> 
> Anyway. At the time I publish this I just have one little scene left to write on the final chapter, and then I'll be wrapping this up. And disappear into Inquisition. Heh.


	30. Amora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroine is reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so here we are, the final instalment. It has been just about done for quite a while, but I fell ill, hence the delay. First person to spot the partial phrase I borrowed from _Story of O_ as a homage gets a prize! ;)

Elena had barely said a word since the celebration. Zevran wondered whether anyone else had noticed her withdrawal, but thought it unlikely. Most of the others were busy planning their own adventures, or had already left. Alistair was caught up in being a king, or learning to be one at any rate. Though he had asked for her company, it had apparently mostly been to complain about his new duties. It wasn't too strange, Zevran supposed, that having a kingdom dropped into his lap - along with the wife of his dead brother - should make him a bit preoccupied.

A few days after the ceremony, Elena had met and talked to most of the dignitaries that demanded to express their gratitude, and would not suffer to meet another one. She asked if Zevran could gather some supplies for a short journey, and he acquiesced without question. Even he, as fond as he was of wine and music and good company, had to admit there was very little rest to be had in the city right now. Elena was a celebrity and his own small part in delivering Ferelden from the Blight had not gone entirely unnoticed. Though he supposed at one point he would have revelled in the attention, right now it just didn't seem appealing.

The thought of leaving her side never once entered his mind.

And so they were on the road again. There was a strange silence between them. For once, he himself felt no need to talk. It was as if his supply of quips and sexual innuendo had temporarily dried up. As for Elena, she seemed tired, worn. In the evenings as they sat by the campfire she would lean on him, and then she would fall asleep cradled in his arms, curled up like a child. It was as close they had been since he gave her the earring.

 

On the third day he asked where they were going.

"I thought we could find that homestead we passed two months ago, or so? It was abandoned. The big house was all burnt down, but there was a cottage."

He nodded. She continued, staring ahead of her as she walked, staff crunching against the gravel of the road.

"We could stay there for a little while. To rest. I'm ... tired. So tired."

 

The cottage was just as they remembered it, next to the burnt-out husk of a larger house. The homestead sat on a hill, nestled by a copse of large hardwoods, and just below the hill was a small lake. Apart from the ruin and the way the cottage had obviously been looted, it was quite quaint. Idyllic, even. No Blight had touched this place; only civil war. There was evidence of violence and looting, but no dark taint upon the ground, and no corpses.

They arrived in the afternoon, and had just enough time before nightfall to board up a couple of windows, as well as fix a small leak in the roof. There was a shed where last year's straw was miraculously still dry, and there were even bedsheets and blankets - musty and moth-eaten but mostly intact - stowed away in a closet the looters must have overlooked. Aired out, they made for perfectly acceptable bedding. Few tools of use had been left, but what they had brought with them would be sufficient for a short stay.

Little was said, and what few words were spoken were of practical things. After a light supper they banked the fire and went to bed.

 

Zevran blinked. There was light shining through the cracks between the boards covering the window, and for a moment he thought it must be morning. But it was all wrong. The light slanted upward to hit the ceiling and was sharp and cold and shifting, not steady sunlight. Coals glowed in the fireplace but the bed was cold and empty. Strange noises were heard from outside. He got up and slipped into his trousers and a pair of boots, then left the cottage. Outside, there was a blazing pillar of light.

He gasped. "Elena!"

She was standing ten yards down the slope, by a small bonfire she had built on the lake shore. That was, the pile of fuel was small. The fire blazed taller than he could estimate; a magical, bluish white inferno. He rushed down the slope but came to an abrupt halt when the heat made it impossible to get closer. He circled around so he could see her face. She appeared to be screaming, but no sound could be heard over the roar of the flames. Around her bare feet there was a glitter of broken glass, tinted with the azure of lyrium. Elena herself was enveloped in magical fire, one hand stretched towards the pile of...

Looking closer, Zevran realised the fuel pile consisted not just of wood. There were her robes, her staff, her enchanted sword - the very sword with which she had slain the archdemon. The robes were aflame and the sword was glowing. The staff's surface showed a spreading network of glowing cracks.

Elena's clothes were burning up, but the fire did not touch her. Her nightshift turned to ashes which peeled away from her skin, dancing up and away in the violent winds. Her hair came unbound and whipped about her head. He realised this was the first time he had seen her naked body since Fort Drakon.

The robes on the bonfire were all but gone. The sword was melting. The staff gave ominous creaking sounds, and suddenly exploded into splinters. Zevran quickly ducked, shielding his face with his arms. The sting of the splinters that hit him barely registered over the painful heat. When he looked up again, he saw that Elena had cuts all over. Blood ran down her legs and turned to ashes even as the wounds closed.

And then, suddenly, the magical flames died. Left was a pile of embers and glowing metal slag, cooling slowly. Elena lifted a hand and gathered her hair behind her head, then lifted her other hand, in which he now realised she had been holding a dagger. She sawed off her hair and threw it on the embers, dagger falling to the ground. Little flames erupted here and there and quickly went out. Smoke rose toward the stars. Elena wavered, like she was one of the dying flames, and Zevran got to her side just as her knees buckled.

"The water," she mumbled through cracked lips. "Please. I want to bathe."

She looked up at him, her eyes dark and colourless but glittering in the light of a gibbous moon. Her cropped hair curled on her cheeks. He nodded and walked down to the water, setting her down gently. She held on to his arm for a little while, then waded out. His heart skipped a few beats. Was this the end? Was she leaving him here, by the side of the lake, with naught but ashes to remember her by? He felt himself slowly drowning and tried to swallow his fear. Whatever it was she had to do ... he would be there if she needed him. And if she didn't, then all was well. So he told himself.

She swam. When he first met her, she hadn't known how, and they had taught her. He remembered their bafflement: Grown up on the shore of a lake, yet never swimming? She took to it easily, never one to fear the elements. It had been a year ago, but felt like a lifetime.

Ripples of silver disturbed the lake's still surface. She lay on her back and watched the sky. After some time, she returned to him, and he could breathe again.

It was a cold night and he thought maybe he should be getting a blanket, but Elena seemed unperturbed. She merely watched as the sword's glow faded. "Here rests Elena Amell, Circle Mage, Grey Warden, and Hero of Ferelden," she intoned. "May Andraste shelter her and give her peace. May the Maker watch over her soul." Then she sighed and looked up at him.

He ventured a smile and held out his hand. She placed hers in it, and suddenly smiled as he had not seen her smile for months.

 

A little while later, they had retired to the cottage. He had rekindled the fire and was heating water to make tea. He felt questions bubble inside him, but had no way to phrase them, so he kept quiet. Elena sat on a stool by the fireplace, a blanket shielding her nakedness.

"I'm sorry, Zevran," she said after a while. She seemed to be wringing her hands or fiddling with something. "I haven't been very good company these last few days."

"You have nothing to apologise for, my dear."

She cleared her throat, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Did ... did I ever release you from your oath? I forget."

Zevran blinked, pausing to think as he stirred tea leaves into the boiling water. "I ... actually don't know? I can't say I feel particularly oath-bound at the moment."

"Well, you are. Released, that is. You don't ... you don't have to come with me. It was selfish of me to expect you to."

Frowning, he took the pot off the fire and set it aside. He sat down next to her. "Elena, what is this about? Why would I leave you?" Smiling wryly, he added, "I hope you didn't think it was my enduring love for Ferelden that made me stick around and help you fight an archdemon."

She was quiet for some time. Then, haltingly: "That ... that earring. The one you gave me after we ... after Taliesen ... I was wondering. Did ... did it mean anything? Or was it ... payment?"

"Oh ... oh no, Elena, it wasn't payment! Why would you--"

Elena turned to face him. He had seen this look on her face before, or at least something very similar, that very first time she had invited him into her tent. Equal parts demanding and imploring, some anger and frustration, a lot of loneliness. "It's just ... after that day, I ... we haven't..." She took a deep breath and turned away again, staring into the flames, her expression suddenly hard. "I just don't understand why you're still with me. I feel like I've been using you. Just as I've been using everyone else."

"What are you talking about?"

She gave a mirthless laugh. "Take Alistair, just as an example. _I_ put Alistair on the throne. _I_ made him marry Anora. I even made him go through a magic sex ritual with Morrigan before the final battle. Her idea, but _I_ had him do it."

"Really?" Zevran snorted, grinning. "I can see why that might haunt you."

"But do you know _why_ I did all that?"

Grin faltering, he shook his head wordlessly. He wasn't even sure he understood the question. There was a darkness in her eyes now, matching the hoarseness of her voice, roughed up by the bonfire. A hint of iron creeping back into her. Since that last night in Redcliffe, she had been more akin to her old self, if quiet and withdrawn. Now, when he looked at her, it was as though she was everything at once. Cold and hard, soft and crumbling. Different versions of Elena clashed and coalesced, fighting to resolve into some new whole.

"Well, of course, I did it because it was the right thing to do for Ferelden - Alistair and Anora ruling together, I mean." Elena smiled sardonically. "The ritual was to ensure that neither Alistair nor myself would have to die slaying the archdemon. Long story. But also, I feel like ... I did it because I could. Because the board was set before me and I wouldn't stop moving the pieces." She stood up, the blanket falling to the floor, and paced naked around the small room. "All these people who look up to me ... All these people who have followed me, listened to me, done as I told them ... They don't even know ... they don't know who I am. Most of them have no idea what I've been through. They don't know what I've seen, what I've had to do. They don't know how it changed me."

She came to a halt, facing a dark corner. Her voice was low. "I could have given Loghain a chance. I could have let him atone for his sins. I know that is what I would have done before ... Before. And now ... the only one to question my decision afterwards has been Alistair. The only one to question me is a man who would most definitely have made the same call, for the same reasons. No one else. Not even Anora."

Moving his tongue around his dry mouth, Zevran tried to find some words. None came. He remembered how Loghain so easily had yielded to her verdict. How he had gently hushed his daughter and submitted as Elena stepped forth, judge and executioner both. He remembered the lightning, surging from her hands. Not even Loghain himself had questioned her.

Elena was still speaking. She turned around, looking at him with large, haunted eyes.

"Do you know what it feels like? This isn't like being a king or a queen, a keeper or a high enchanter or whatever. That's just politics. This? This is some kind of ... blasphemy. Some kind of warped godhood. It's not right. And it's ... it's killing me. Killing the person I thought I was, or wanted to become." She stopped, looking down at her hands. For a few moments, they glowed with magic, flames dancing on her palms. "I can feel the power in me, Zev, I feel it all the time. The things I can do ... And now that I'm a 'hero'?" She shook her head. "I'm no Andraste, Maker save me. I'm not some otherworldly spirit or powerful demon. I'm just a girl. But this ... this has come so close to turning me into an abomination. Without there even being a demon to possess me."

Her shoulders slumped and she stood staring silently into the fire for a long time. He watched her. Her body was lean. The soft little girl that had left the Circle had been hardened by travel and hardship until she looked perpetually tense. But he still saw her yielding nature, beneath all that. Considering her words, he suddenly realised that he had been wrong. He had thought she had made herself iron and ice after happened at Fort Drakon - but that had just been the last straw. It had started long before that.

When she had left the tower to join the Grey Wardens, she wasn't just young in years; she had never experienced life outside. That kind, awkward, bookish girl growing up in Kinloch Hold had been cursed with a power so immese that it pulled her into the midst of a war that threatened to tear Ferelden asunder, and eventually all of Thedas. She had been forced to witness unspeakable atrocities and expected to end conflicts no one else had the strength to resolve. With every action she had taken, she had proven her worth, and further sealed her fate: To be a hero. To find the best of all possible outcomes and make it happen, again and again, while the world threw enemy after enemy, obstacle after obstacle in her way. No one could live like that and not change.

Fate had shown her no mercy, and at some point, mercy had stopped being her nature. At some point it had become a chore.

And she had refused to lean on any of them. After every difficulty they had faced, she had stood a little straighter, looking toward an ever more distant horizon. The change had been so subtle, so gradual that none of them had noticed - in fact, he doubted if she had even seen it herself until now. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but knew she wasn't done, and so he remained still, waiting.

"There was a demon," she said quietly, "that almost did possess me. She tempted me with something I didn't understand I wanted. Something I pretended for the longest time that--"

She took a shivering breath and turned towards him. Her eyes were brimming with tears. Again he was reminded of their first night together.

"Elena the Hero had to die. So I held a funeral. And now I'm just ... this." She gestured to her own naked form, almost dismissively. "And I wonder, what good is this? I think of you and how much I had looked forward to being with you after this whole ... mess. It's all that kept me going, toward the end. And then I realise, maybe this is not what you wanted. Maybe you wanted Elena the Hero. Or even worse, maybe Elena the Hero made you come, when really you wanted to go somewhere else. And I ... I don't know. I just don't know!"

He stood, closed the gap between them, embraced her. She quivered in his arms. Whatever she had changed into, whatever scars she carried, at her core she was still the same. He held her tight, a hand in her hair, his lips against her ear. "The earring," he murmured, "was a rather clumsy attempt at showing real affection. And I didn't give it to the Hero of Ferelden. I gave it to you. Because I've seen you, I know you, and whatever you think you've become, in my eyes you are always beautiful."

She managed to bring her hand up between them. Gold glinted between her fingers. "Then I will wear it," she said shakily, and pushed the pin through her left earlobe. A drop of blood trailed down her neck. "If you will have me ... I am yours." She gazed at him - searchingly, hopefully, fearfully.

 _So this is it, then_ , he thought to himself. All those years of hardening himself. Of refusing to feel, refusing to engage with others in a real way. Of building walls so tall and strong and shutting the gates so tight he barely knew how to open up anymore. Absolutely necessary for an Antivan Crow, true, but ... he was no Crow any longer. After Rinna he had run from that life, seeking an end in the embrace of death. Instead he had found _her_.

Maybe, if Elena had demanded he spoke plainly of his feelings, he would have evaded her. Maybe then he would have left, thrown her off his scent and escaped for good. But here she was, setting aside past vows, shedding her own shells of power and influence and baring herself to him, as an offering. How could he refuse her now?

He had all but admitted how he felt already. They had danced around like this for months, telling themselves and others that what they had was but a pleasant distraction, growing close even as they pushed at each other, trying to keep some distance. They had tried so hard to shelter their hearts from pain, but now the distance had started to hurt far more.

So he cupped her chin and looked into her eyes and finally told her, and himself, the truth.

 

His lips on hers, feathery soft, exploring as if it were their first time. In a way, it was. She closed her eyes and smiled into the kiss. It tasted of her tears, and that was alright. Her earlobe throbbed, and that too was alright. Everything was finally alright. The kiss lingered, intensified in waves. She leaned into him and he tangled his fingers in her hair, tilting her head back. She had grown taller and tougher, but in his arms she felt small and soft.

Understanding crept into her mind like dawn, softly illuminating all that was forgotten and ignored, all that which she had tried not to look at too closely for fear of what she might find. It wasn't just a game, not any longer. Perhaps it hadn't been for a long time. There had never been anything to fear. He loved her, and she loved him, and finally she was free to just be his. The Hero had been buried so that Elena could find a new self, free of the ties that bound her before. All that remained was the one that tethered her to Zevran, and in him, she found her release.

His hands on her body became ever more demanding, his tongue now claiming her mouth. She found herself whimpering softly as he touched her, the heady rush of arousal making her knees weak. It felt as though he was growing, his presence expanding to fill her whole world, as though he was everywhere around her. The hand in her hair and his lips crushed against hers forced her head back, millimeter by millimeter. The other hand roamed her skin, cupping, fondling, pinching. Her fortress of ice melted quickly to his touch and she found herself burning. When finally he caressed her exposed throat, her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, standing on her knees before him, panting. Her eyes opened and she saw his face hovering above her, a gentle smile on his lips. He let go of her hair and ran the back of his fingers over her cheek.

"I will give you pleasure, but first I would like to give you pain, and this time I will ask your permission. Do you agree?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, surprising herself. For a fraction of a second she questioned her answer: Was she truly willing to throw herself back into this strange, twisted world of theirs? After everything that had happened, everything she had been through, whas this truly what she wanted? The answer was as clear and direct as she had spoken it. Yes, she was willing, yes, this was what she wanted.

He was looking at her, studying her face for doubt. She smiled and repeated, "I am yours."

Returning her smile, he told her to stay where she was, leaving her on her knees while he moved about the room. He built up the fire to fend off the chill of night and then rummaged through his belongings. When he returned to her, he was holding a satin bag containing some oblong object. After a moment she realised she had seen it before. Isabela had tossed it casually into his hands as a parting gift, winking and saying that he would probably get more enjoyment out of it. Now Zevran drew from the bag a handle wrapped in intricate leatherwork, with a multitude of leather straps hanging from one end. He crouched before her, turning the whip over in his hands, combing the tails with his fingers.

"Heh. Isabela truly has excellent taste, no? Go on, feel it," he said, holding it up to her.

Elena touched it gingerly. The leather was supple as sin, buttery soft underneath her fingers. And even she had to admit it smelled good. She tried to imagine what it would feel like striking her skin.

Zevran helped her up and led her to the bed, where he had lie forward on it with her legs hanging off the edge. He placed a folded blanket underneath her knees. "Now, I don't want you to stay quiet, but I need you to be still," he instructed.

She nodded, closing her eyes. There was a rushing noise as the leather clove through the air.

The first hit was a caress. As was the second, and the third. Zevran struck up a steady rhythm, and soon the leather slapped gently against her skin, the only other noise in the cabin being the quiet mumble of the fire and Elena's small gasps. The whip wandered over her back and behind. It felt more like a massage than anything painful, but she felt her skin begin to warm up, and soon it started to sting. A whimper escaped her lips as the leather lashed across her buttock slightly harder than before. Zevran paused and ran his hand over her soothingly for a moment. Then he picked it up again.

Slowly he built up the pain. Every time she twitched or moaned, he would give her a moment's rest, then start over just a little bit softer. But every time, he kept going, pushing just a bit further than the time before. There came a point where he would no longer pause for the slightest reaction, but pushed through her whimpering and made her cry out. Waves of heat coursed through her body, pain and pleasure intermingled until they were nigh indistinguishable. He spoke to her sometimes, murmured words of gentle encouragement as he stroked her burning skin.

During a brief pause, where Zevran leaned over her and kissed her shoulders and told her how good she was being, she wondered at how leather so soft could strike her so painfully. He had flogged her with ropes before, and they had been much harsher than this. But he had never beaten her for this long before, nor as hard. At this point, every lash rang out with a loud smack, followed by her own involuntary noises - gasps, whimpers, moans, cries. Her body acted instinctively, trying to twist away from the relentless beating, and she fought it desperately. It hurt, but the pain was like snow, like open skies and brilliant light, and she relished it. She begged for mercy and the blanket underneath her face was wet with tears, but when he paused to remind her that she had but to use the word he had given her, she said nothing, instead arching into his touch, her body begging him for more no matter what her mouth said.

At last, he finished with a series of brutal lashes across her behind. She screamed into the bedding, pounded it with her fists as she fought the instinctual surge of magic within.

Silence replaced her cries. She could hear nothing but her own rasping breath, but was vaguely aware of Zevran moving behind her. When he touched her, she twitced, but he was gentle, caressing something soothing onto her skin. He massaged her, and the feeling of his hands on her body became her entire world. One hand slipped between her thighs and slid up to touch her swollen sex, and she gasped, a surge of pleasure coursing through her and causing her to spasm.

Zevran chuckled. "You've done so well," he whispered. The words turned in her mind like a key in a lock, and tears rose in her eyes. "Good girl."

He helped her up onto the bedding and she cried quietly in his arms for what seemed a very long time while he stroked her hair, murmuring praise and encouragement in her ear. Tension gradually left her, draining out of her along with the tears. It seemed to her that the darkness she had carried within had finally found a conduit in the pain Zevran put her through. Some had left with her screams, the rest was fading now with every sob. In its place, she was filled with a sense of immense relief.

 

Holding her close, Zevran felt how Elena's heartbeat gradually slowed, her breathing becoming less ragged. Her skin was slick with sweat, but there was still a hearty glow in the fireplace staving off the cool night air. Discarded on the small bedside dresser lay Isabela's leather flogger. He smiled, giving quiet thanks to his pirate friend - this session would have been quite painful to do with his hands alone. And it had been necessary, that much he was convinced of. The way Elena had finally broken, not at the culmination of pain but at his gentle words afterwards ... she had needed this. The joy he felt at having been allowed and able to help her was beyond measure.

After some time, she had calmed down completely and lay relaxed in his arms. He ran his hands over her, at first simply massaging her gently, then letting his touches become more intimate. Although she seemed ready to sleep, he quickly found that her body had not forgotten his promise of pleasure. When he plucked at her nipples they puckered immediately and a shiver went through her. Her sex was dripping, and her hips bucked on their own accord when he slipped two fingers inside her.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Please," she said huskily, "please, Zevran..."

"Hmm?" He raised his eyebrows at her innocently and withdrew his hand, then laughed as her eyebrows shot up in a panicked, beseeching expression. He brought his fingers to her mouth, having her taste herself. She sucked at them eagerly. "You have never been so ready for me, my dear. No need for begging ... this time."

He laid her on her back. Removing his trousers he revealed he was every bit as ready for her as she was for him, and soon he was on top of her, sliding his cock against her opening, wetting it with her juices. She moaned, arching against him, and he made good on not making her beg, sliding easily inside. It had been far, far too long for him to have any patience for teasing - besides, she was beyond ready. The little cottage was full of her scent.

He started moving inside her with long, forceful strokes and Elena moaned, shaking with pleasure. He responded in kind, gasping her name as she squeezed him. When he leaned down to kiss her, she wrapped her limbs around him and clung to him, as though trying to get as close as possible.

 

Holding on to Zevran, she could finally let go of everything else. Through fire and water, through pain and pleasure, Elena was reborn.

 

Dawn found Zevran and Elena sprawled on the bed with the sheets in a jumble around them. He said: "So, if you are no longer Elena the Hero, what should I call you?"

"I don't know. Whatever you like." She sighed contentedly and snuggled closer to him. "Whatever you think fits."

He gave this some thought. "Well then, my love ... since that is what you are, that is what I shall call you. _Amora_."

 

When the sun was rising and they left the cabin together to watch the world wake, she said: "Thank you Zev. You know, if you hadn't been there to take my mind off things, I'm sure it would have cracked. If our fates hadn't twisted together..."

"I think you mean 'intertwined', dear. But we are definitely together - and quite twisted, I'll give you that." He winked at her, grinning.

"Ha, ha. I'm trying to have a moment here." She jabbed at his ribs with her finger. "I'm serious. If not for you, if not for us ... I could never have done it."

" _Amora_ , are you saying I saved Ferelden by treating you like my dirty little whore? Because if so, should the world ever need saving again - I'm game!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no happily ever after for people like Zevran and Elena. But for a time, before fate dictated they move on to other adventures, they helped each other heal.
> 
> It feels very strange to publish this final chapter. This is the longest story I've ever written, and the only long story I've finished. I would like to return to it and revise it someday. The first few chapters especially need rewriting, and also I would like to cover how they first meet. But for now I'm busy playing Inquisition (and goddammit, a DA:I fanfic has already started writing itself in my head - I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS).
> 
> Anyway. If you've read this far: Thank you so much, I feel honoured that you thought it worth your time. Please do leave a comment. :)

**Author's Note:**

> **A sequel is in the works, set before and during Dragon Age: Awakening.**


End file.
